Once it was out of her mouth, she regretted it. But it was out now, hanging in the air in front of them and judging by the way Malfoy had gone still, by the way he was staring her, nothing but quiet surprise written on his face, it was too late to take it back.

She dropped her hand.

"help each-other?" He repeated, his eyebrows raised.

Hermione sighed. "Yes. I mean, look at you. Look at me ten minutes ago."

Draco shifted from side to side. She could practically hear 'get on with it' itching to come out of his mouth.

She continued: "You're walking in your sleep. Obviously I am too. And—" she gestured to his face "It hasn't done either of us any favors. The more I think about it, which I try not to, the more I realize that I'll do something really stupid if nothing changes. So, yes Malfoy, I mean help each-other. Maybe, I mean I don't know what that would look like really, but any plan that avoids us getting caught or severely injured seems somewhat worthy of consideration."

Malfoy's trade mark sneer had slacked away, and morphed into a look of bewilderment that made her uncomfortable with just how earnest it was.

She started to shake her head, avoiding his eyes.

"Just- never mind. It was stupid, I don't need- never mind."

She turned, her face bright red, already cursing herself silently for letting that come out of her mouth. But Malfoy called out just then, halting her in her tracks.

"Granger, just what- just what exactly are suggesting?"

She turned to face him again, ready to tell him to forget it, but he'd walked closer to her, was barely an arms distance away, and there was an unreadable gleam in his eye that again struck her as honest- a face she'd never expected to see on Draco Malfoy, and it gave her pause.

"Well, I don't quite know what I mean and if it's utterly ridiculous, the thought of us helping each other, then what's the point of-"

"I want to hear you say it," he said, his tone serious, looming over her with bright eyes and a stern mouth.

Hermione blinked, took a step back. "I suppose, I mean if we both know we end up here, then one of us could stay awake. Do homework or something, and just watch."

Draco's mouth curved up into a smile. "Of course this plan involves homework, don't you ever-"

"Oh forget it Malfoy."

She swiveled on her heel once more, too tired and angry to fight.

Night 30

It took two days for anything to come of their conversation, during which Hermione had gone back and forth in her state of turmoil.

On one hand, she was angry at herself for saying anything to Malfoy. Angry that all it took was a slight dose of fear and vulnerability to have her placing any amount of trust in the boy that let Death Eaters into the castle, the boy that, just weeks ago, she'd been absolutely sure was planning something horrible.

But on the other hand, the logical side of her brain could not let go of the advantages of having someone who understood exactly what she was going through, who could potentially stop her from walking off a jagged castle edge in her sleep. The only question is if he actually would help her. On his own, mostly likely not. But if she knew anything about Malfoy, it was that his self preservation would win out over everything else. And the threat was real for him too.

Eventually, this theory proved correct.

She was heading into her last class, late, so she was practically jogging through the near empty halls, when a hand snaked around her arm, and pulled her roughly behind a tapestried alcove.

She let out a little yip of protest, unsheathing her wand with the speed she's come accustomed to, but stilled when she saw Malfoy.

His lip was re-split, hair disheveled, and the darkness under his eyes an even more violent shade of purple. He said nothing, only took her by the wrist and unfurled her closed fingers, angrily shoving a piece of parchment into her hand, before lithely slipping back into the hallway.

Hermione looked down, her heart beat slowing to a steady thrum as she unfolded the paper, where she saw scrawled in quick cursive:

Old potions room 10:00

Night 31

With some hesitation Hermione came to the old potions room, in a large sweater and her slippers, her book bag clutched tightly in her hand.

To her surprise Malfoy was already there, leaning tall and sullen against the backdrop of the tarnished castle wall.

She swallowed nervously, her doubts and uncertainty clouding over her thoughts for the umpteenth time. Clutching her book bag tighter to her side she approached him, and waited for him to speak.

After a moment of appraising her, coldly with his arms folded, he said:

"I don't want your help."

Hermione shifted from one heel to the other. "Right."

He glanced to the side, thinking, and then back to her. He really was going to make this difficult.

"But?" she prodded.

"But I'd rather not kill myself in my sleep."

She nodded curtly.

"Likewise."

"So what then?" He said, and she didn't miss the sharp defensive edge to his tone.

Hermione glared in response, and he shrugged then shook his head in frustration. "Isn't this your idea? What's your brilliant plan."

Frowning so hard she thought her face would crack, Hermione stared at him, then lifted her bag off her shoulder and promptly sat down before him.

Draco arms fell to his sides, his body going flush to the wall as he looked down at her cautiously- like she was going to bite at him or something. She scoffed, then began to pull out her homework.

"Did you bring anything?"

He shook his head.

"Of course not." She muttered. "The plan is I'm going to sit here and do my homework. I don't care what you do, but if you happen to fall asleep, and take a dive off the castle, I might be inclined to stop you."

Malfoy stared hard at her, then without a word, sunk down to take a seat.

Ignoring him, Hermione pulled out her stacks of parchment and set to work on her transfiguration essay.

A few silent moments passed, in which from the corner of her eye, she could see Malfoy toying with the skin on his thumbs, staring off down the hallway of the castle like something was about to come up them. And it was then that she discovered a new hitch in her plan. It was incredibly awkward. There was a persistent heat climbing up the column of her neck, and try as she might to focus on her essay, she found herself rereading the same paragraph over and over again, her mind jumping ship to worry about Malfoy's looming figure and the stifling silence of the abandoned corridor.

Malfoy it seemed, was prepared to sit in silence. Abandoning his thumbs he took to lighting a piece of papery debris on fire, which Hermione shot her head up to protest, until it formed into a steady ball that hung above them and emitted a faint glow of light. It was, admittedly, helpful for her studies.

She blushed, and shifted back to focusing on her essay.

Ignoring him became easier as the time passed, and he thankfully remained silent. Hermione dipped her quill in the pot of ink she'd set out to her side, and went to return to her paper. Just then the little ball of light went out, and the corridor became suddenly darker. She whipped her head up, an petulant remark on her lips, when she saw that Malfoy's head was slumped to the side, eyes closed and chest working itself up and down in steady breaths.

He'd fallen asleep.

Hermione blinked. She hadn't really been expecting him to, and was surprised at how easily he'd given in. He really must have been exhausted, just like her. She stared unabashedly, too curious not to. He looked a lot more peaceful when he wasn't scowling, younger even, despite the discoloration of his bruises and the unhealthy hollows of his under eyes. He was still pointy- pointy chin, point nose, but it at seemed to make more sense now that he was older. Honestly, if he'd been a decent bloke, maybe someone who smiled, he'd have an alright face. Too bad it was spoiled on him. He twitched in his sleep, and Hermione jolted, suddenly afraid that he'd wake. But he went right on sleeping. An odd feeling resembling pity formed in her stomach as she continued to study him.

How many nights had he gone without sleep she wondered. If his affliction was anything like hers, it was too many to count. Hermione knew what kept her up at night, what stole the sacred hours of her sleep and fractured the peace of her mind. But what was it that kept him up? Was it memories of the war, nightmares, horrors imagined and relived, same as for her? Or was it guilt that stopped his sleep? Could he even feel guilty? Somehow, it was hard for her imagine. The proud, snide Draco Malfoy, kept awake in torment for the things he'd done. She imagined it was the former.

She went back to studying, recognizing that she couldn't very well stare at him the entire time. Besides, she felt strangely more comfortable now that he was asleep, enough that she could focus on her work again.

Nearly an hour had passed and she'd gotten through the final edits of her paper, completely engrossed in her task, when he began to stir.

She glanced up, suddenly attentive. Malfoy's brow was furrowed as if he were in pain, and was beginning to mumble something, a string of almost words, lightly under his breath. Hermione was completely still. Then his hand shot to his chest, his fingers clutching over the fabric of his shirt, violently caging and gripping the space above his heart. Her eyes widened, but she didn't jump into action until she saw the other hand fumble on the ground, then find quick purchase on a particularly nasty lump of castle rock.

Without a second thought she jolted upright, still half seated on her knees, and grabbed for his hands to still them.

"Malfoy." She said, focusing her efforts on prying his left hand free from the stone. He was mumbling louder now, fighting her to keep it in his grasp.

"Malfoy wake up!" She said louder, her fingers twining with his, slipping under them and then with some force, wrenching the rock from his hand.

His eyes shot open, and Hermione froze, leaning over him with both hands gripped sternly onto his.

She quickly let them drop, and receded back into a seated position. Malfoy was breathing heavily, staring at her, glancing from her hands to his, before he quickly shoved them in his coat pockets. Then he stood up.

"I'm going for a walk." He said.

Hermione nodded silently, and kept her eyes to the floor as he walked away.

Night 32

It was the second night of them meeting, and they'd both shown up without discussing it. Hermione was grateful for this because she'd have felt completely ridiculous standing around, unofficially waiting for him.

This time Malfoy brought his homework, which made it much easier to ignore each other. An hours long silence drifted somewhat uncomfortably between them, until:

"So, how often?"

"Every night."

"Me too. Well nearly, sometimes I don't even try to sleep. What's- what's the worst it's gotten?"

"My face isn't bad enough for you Granger?"

"I didn't say that."

"No, I suppose you didn't."

"So that's it then?"

"No, it's been worse. Definitely worse."

"How so?"

"Christ, I forgot how pushy you are."

"Well buggar me for trying to help then. I- what?"

"Nothing, just didn't except that to come out of your mouth."

"My best friends are boys."

"Noted. And it was my leg."

"Hm?"

"My leg. I broke it. I don't know how. But I was half naked with a broken leg at three in the morning, half the castle length away from the Slytherin dorms, and no wand."

"God- how did you make it back?"

"I hobbled."

"You hobbled?"

"Mhm."

Hermione let out a surprised chuckle, and the sound was so surprising to her that she made an attempt to stifle it with her hand, then continued.

Draco glared at her, and just like the moment was over. They went back to silence.

Night 33

The third night Hermione's fears came true, as she stood awkwardly in front of the old potions room, with no Malfoy to be seen. She was about to grab her things and leave in a huff, pretend she'd never come, when she heard footsteps, and then saw him, strolling lazily to where she stood.

"I didn't think you'd come," she said, sounding bitter even to herself, which was surprising because because she expected nothing of him.

He shrugged, staring at her wordlessly, then began to remove his satchel.

"We should-" she cleared her throat. She hadn't fully thought this out yet, but she'd already started now.

"We should maybe lay some ground rules."

Malfoy's brows shot up. "Ground rules? For, homework?

Hermione rolled her eyes at him in an exaggerated fashion she hoped was frustrating. "No dim-wit, I mean, for whatever this is."

Malfoy had stilled and gone steely at the insult, his arms crossing over his chest.

"And what it exactly is this?"

She balked, her face growing warm, her eyes shooting to the ceiling as if she'd find the right words dangling there. It was working to not define it, and here she was, true to her categorical nature, attempting to define it.

"I don't- I just think, let's just try it out for a week. See what we learn. That's all I'm saying."

Malfoy blinked at her, slow, like everything she said was too ridiculous or simple-minded not to insult him.

"I'm going to- nevermind."

She sat down, abandoning the ship with a few daggers cast in his direction and a healthy dose of self admonishments for even trying.

Night 34-37

Despite Malfoy's vague disapproval, he had in fact, shown up every night for a week.

Hermione was silently grateful, because as much as his presence flitted between irking or disturbing her, she was convinced this was the best way to get a sense of what they were both capable of in their unconscious moments, and see if the others presence was at all helpful in halting any reckless or stupid actions.

It was a pact they made silently, on delirium and a healthy dose of awkward reservation. But beyond even all of that, Hermione knew she wouldn't keep showing up if there wasn't a sense of underlying desperation.

So, despite its strangeness, they settled into what was almost a kind of routine. They met outside of the old potions room, did their homework, and without acknowledging it, tentatively let themselves drift asleep. Well, not let themselves, Hermione knew that for her part each time she drifted off it was a complete accident. She really did not want to sleep in front of Malfoy, and she suspected he felt similarly. But they were both exhausted, that much was clear. Still, it was utterly confounding just how vulnerable it was.

Hermione remedied this as best she could by not acknowledging it whatsoever, and Malfoy seemed content to do the same. It was as if they were pretending that happenstance led them to studying in the same part of the castle, in the broken and restricted halls. Because to admit that they were doing anything together, more than they already had, would break the quiet truce between them. And when something did happen, it was dealt with, quickly, and then not spoken about.

For her part, Hermione had stopped Malfoy from getting agitated in his sleep a total of three times. When it came to her drifting off, she wasn't quite sure he did much at all.

Which was fine with her, because she liked to pretend that she in fact was not falling asleep. This was of course, not true. There were many times when she drifted off without meaning to and would jolt awake, feather still in hand, and go on working as it nothing happened.

Once she'd woken to Malfoy kicking her foot from where he sat, and she'd startled to find herself crumpling the fresh piece of parchment she'd been working on in a now ink stained hand. He hadn't said anything about it though, just continued his focus on his own studies, and that was fine enough for her.

In the daytime they ignored each other, business as usual. There were a few moments in the Great Hall when Hermione had let her eyes drift to his solitary spot in the Slytherin table, but only allowed herself to linger there for a moment, before pushing him out of her mind again.

There was danger in what they were doing. She knew it. There was risk, and an overall feeling of heightened discomfort in trusting an enemy to supervise your nights. But, as much as she wouldn't dare to admit it, there was something intoxicating about the added rest it gave, and she was sure he felt the same way too- or else he would have bagged out days ago.

Because it was working. Without wandering, climbing, shifting and even injuring herself in her sleep, Hermione's body had been able to rejuvenate her strength, if even just a bit. And that bit was noticeable enough that she didn't want to second guess the odd arrangement they had. Besides, it was only for one week. Only until they found a more permanent solution: one that didn't require their strange entanglement.