Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and world of Harry Potter.
Draco crossed the shared living room and stopped at Hermione's door. He raised his hand and knocked once, hesitating before preparing to knock again. Before his knuckles could meet the wood a second time, the door opened abruptly, and Hermione stood in the doorway.
"What?" she asked, her tone carrying a hint of irritation.
Draco opened his mouth to respond but found himself momentarily at a loss for words. Instead, he studied her, noting the subtle dark circles under her eyes. Her posture was slightly slouched, and while she looked composed – her hair tied back neatly and her clothes unrumpled – there was a weariness about her that no amount of tidying up could hide. Another near-sleepless night, no doubt.
"Well?" Hermione prompted, arching an eyebrow, her expression caught somewhere between impatience and curiosity.
Draco blinked and cleared his throat. "You look… tired," he said finally, his usual drawl softened by something that almost sounded like concern.
Hermione sighed and crossed her arms. "Is that really why you knocked on my door? To comment on my appearance?"
"No," Draco replied quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I wanted to tell you breakfast is starting soon. I figured you wouldn't want to miss it, seeing as you're probably too stubborn to eat properly otherwise."
Hermione gave him a pointed look but said nothing, stepping back into her room to grab her bag.
Draco leaned casually against the doorframe, watching her move. "You know," he added, "whatever's keeping you up at night… it's starting to show."
Hermione froze for a moment before turning to face him, her eyes narrowing. "I'm fine, Malfoy," she said firmly, brushing past him into the living room. "And I don't need advice about my sleep habits from you."
Draco smirked, following her at a leisurely pace. "Touchy this morning, aren't we? Well, suit yourself, Granger. I was just trying to help."
"Sure you were," Hermione muttered, slinging her bag over her shoulder as they exited their quarters.
The walk to the Great Hall was filled with silence, but Draco couldn't help glancing at her occasionally out of the corner of his eye. The dark circles, the clipped responses – it didn't take a genius to see something was bothering her. But he didn't push it. Not yet, anyway.
When they arrived at the Great Hall, Hermione and Draco wordlessly parted ways. Hermione made her way to the Gryffindor table, settling in beside Neville and across from Ginny, while Draco joined Pansy at the Slytherin table.
As Hermione poured herself a glass of orange juice, Ginny leaned forward, her expression tight with frustration. "Have you seen him?" she asked, her voice low but tinged with anger.
Hermione looked up, confused. "I don't know who you're talking about."
Ginny huffed, her annoyance clear. "Ron. He said he saw you…"
"Oh," Hermione said, her face clearing with understanding. "Yes, he came to the castle on Saturday." She took a sip of her juice, her tone neutral.
Ginny's expression softened, but her frustration didn't fully fade. "Hermione, I'm so sorry. I didn't know he was coming. That idiot of a brother took us all by surprise. I swear, I didn't see this coming."
"Ginny!" Hermione said, her tone firm yet kind. "What on earth are you apologizing for? Nothing wrong happened."
Ginny looked at her incredulously. "You mean you're not upset?"
Hermione shook her head, setting her glass down. "I admit, I was surprised when he told me about Claire, but I'm not upset. In fact…" She hesitated for a moment, her gaze softening. "I'm happy for him. For them. Truly. And you should be too, Ginny. He's your brother, after all."
Ginny stared at her, her brow furrowing. "But… Hermione… you two… I mean, it hasn't even been that long since you broke up."
"I know," Hermione said, her voice calm and even. "And it's fine. Really. Ron deserves to be happy, and if Claire makes him happy, then that's all that matters. I only want the best for him."
Ginny let out a small sigh, leaning back in her seat. "Well, if you're sure… I mean, I'll always support him, of course, but…" She trailed off, her expression conflicted.
"Trust me, Ginny," Hermione said with a small smile. "It's for the best, for both of us."
Ginny studied her for a moment longer before nodding, a tentative smile breaking across her face. "All right, if you say so."
The two girls turned their attention back to their breakfast, though Hermione couldn't help but feel Ginny's occasional glances. Still, Hermione's resolve didn't waver. She was happy for Ron, and in her heart, she knew it was the truth.
Hermione finally finished her last class of the day, Transfiguration, and although she absolutely loved the subject and found it absolutely entertaining, she still had trouble keeping her eyes open and focusing on her tasks throughout the lesson. Although she would never admit it, the countless sleepless hours were finally taking their toll.
The girl frowned as she remembered the Arithmancy paper she had to finish for the following day. Normally, she would have gone to the library already and retrieved every bit of information she could find on the subject, but seeing as she was still banned from that sacred place for yet another week, she had no choice but to make do with the limited books she owned.
She could, of course, ask one of her friends to go into the library on her behalf, but the thought of explaining what she was looking for – it just felt extremely exhausting.
As her eyes burned and her head grew heavier, Hermione impulsively changed direction, her feet carrying her toward the one place she thought might offer relief: the hospital wing.
She rarely allowed herself to seek help, preferring to handle her problems on her own, but at that moment, the combination of exhaustion and the looming Arithmancy paper was too much to bear. A small voice in her head chastised her for giving in, but she silenced it. It's not giving up. It's practical, she reasoned.
The walk to the hospital wing was mercifully quiet. Hermione was relieved that she didn't encounter anyone on her way. She wasn't in the mood for explanations or well-meaning questions. All she wanted was a moment of reprieve from her restless nights.
She pushed open the large double doors to the hospital wing, expecting it to be quiet and empty. But to her surprise, more than a few students were lying in the beds, their faces pale and tired. In the far corner of the room, Madam Pomfrey was engaged in what appeared to be a heated conversation with none other than Professor Snape.
Hermione froze, her stomach twisting. Of all people, why did it have to be him?
The two of them didn't seem to notice her entrance, which she silently thanked the stars for. Snape's back was turned, his black robes billowing slightly as he gestured sharply in frustration. Madam Pomfrey's face was a mixture of irritation and concern as she responded in an equally animated manner.
Hermione took a deep breath and backed away, slipping out of the room as quickly as she had entered. The last thing she wanted was for Snape to notice her presence – or worse, to figure out why she was there. She couldn't bear the thought of him knowing about her sleepless nights or using it as ammunition against her later.
As she made her way back to her dormitory, Hermione clutched her arms around herself. She tried to push aside her lingering disappointment. It's fine, she told herself. I'll deal with it on my own, like I always do.
But even as she climbed the steps to her room and slipped inside, she couldn't quite shake the image of Snape's commanding presence in the hospital wing – or the faint curiosity about what could have sparked such an argument with Madam Pomfrey.
For now, though, her exhaustion won out, and she sank onto her bed with a weary sigh. The potion could wait. Sleep would come eventually… it always did. The problem was, when it did come, so did the bad dreams.
As she started on her task for the following day, Hermione felt the quiet, persistent invitation of her bed looming over her like a soft, inevitable trap. At first, she successfully resisted the impulse, shaking her head and reminding herself she had work to finish before her detention in the dungeons later that evening.
Her quill scratched steadily against the parchment as she jotted down notes, but the rhythm of her writing began to falter. Her eyelids grew heavier, and the once-crisp lines of her handwriting started to slope. She blinked hard, shaking her head again, and sat up straighter in her chair.
But the weight of her exhaustion pressed down on her more insistently with each passing moment. Her thoughts became sluggish, and the words on the parchment blurred together until they seemed like nothing more than black smudges.
Finally, Hermione gave in, pushing her books and parchment to the side with a soft sigh. She stood and approached her bed, her movements slow and hesitant, as though stepping closer might seal her fate.
"I'll just rest my eyes," she murmured to herself, pulling the blanket over her as she sank into the familiar comfort of the mattress. "Just for a bit."
Within minutes, her breathing evened out, and the weight of sleep claimed her.
It didn't take long for the recurring dream to return, wrapping Hermione in its familiar dread.
Once again, she was running, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as she tore through the endless darkness of the Forbidden Forest. She ran until she reached the now-familiar clearing, her feet skidding to a halt on the damp ground.
This time, there was no one to hold her back. No hand on her shoulder, no whispered warning. She moved forward, her heart pounding, and knelt beside the figure lying prone on the ground.
The moonlight cast a faint glow over the scene, illuminating the man's long, dark hair that obscured his face. He groaned, the sound weak and pained, and Hermione carefully lifted his head, her hands trembling.
As her fingers brushed against him, the world shifted. Suddenly, she was no longer in the clearing but in the suffocating confines of the Shrieking Shack. The metallic scent of blood hung in the air, and the dim light barely pierced through the gloom.
The realization hit her like a curse. She didn't need to see his face. She knew who he was. She had been here before, but it felt like a lifetime ago.
"Sir…" she whispered, her voice trembling as she stared down at the man in her arms.
For a fleeting moment, it felt as though time had stood still, frozen in the echoes of the past. But then something shifted again, and the weight of reality crashed down on her.
He became still. Too still. His body, once warm and trembling with pain, turned cold in her arms. The shallow groans she had heard only moments ago were gone.
Professor Snape was dead.
"No!" Hermione screamed, panic surging through her as tears blurred her vision. "This didn't happen! This can't happen!"
Her hands flew to the wound on his neck, trying desperately to stem the blood that had long since stopped flowing. Her fingers pressed against the torn flesh, her movements frantic and clumsy, but no amount of pressure would bring him back.
"You can't be dead!" she sobbed, her voice cracking under the weight of her despair. "Sir! Wake up!"
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sound of her ragged breathing and the tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Professor Snape!" she shouted again, shaking him slightly, willing him to respond. But the man in her arms remained motionless, his lifeless form a devastating reminder of what she had already lost.
Hermione's cries echoed through the dark, empty space, but no one came. No one ever came.
A couple of hours later, Hermione walked through the cold, dimly lit corridors of the castle. She was heading to the dungeons, her thoughts drifting absently back to her nightmare. She could still see her professor's lifeless face, still feel the cold weight of him in her arms. Shaking her head to dispel the haunting images, she quickened her pace, focusing on the task at hand.
It took her five minutes or so to reach the Potions classroom, but she managed not to be late. She intended to knock, but before her steady hand could touch the wooden door, it swung open abruptly.
"Ah, Miss Granger. I was expecting you," Professor Snape said, his tone as sharp as ever.
Hermione froze, momentarily taken aback. She couldn't help but stare at him. His voice, his movements, his very presence – it was such a stark contrast to the lifeless image from her dream. Seeing him alive, breathing, and very much himself was oddly comforting.
"Granger!" Snape barked, snapping her out of her trance.
"Yes, Professor?" she replied, flustered.
"Madam Pomfrey has requested an alarmingly high amount of Pepperup Potion. It seems the castle is battling a flu epidemic, and her stores are running low. Thankfully, this is a simple brew, so I expect it won't be beyond even your capabilities. Now, get to work." He gestured toward the workstations before striding back to his desk, robes billowing behind him.
Hermione took her usual spot at the table and set to work, methodically chopping, slicing, and measuring the ingredients. The monotony of the task provided some small reprieve from her spiraling thoughts, but her exhaustion made even simple tasks feel tedious.
Half an hour later, Snape's voice cut through the quiet.
"Miss Granger," he said, his tone quieter than usual, "I couldn't help but notice that you visited the Hospital Wing today, only to leave almost immediately. Why?"
Hermione's hands stilled, her knife hovering mid-slice. She glanced up at him, startled. Was that… concern in his voice? Or was she imagining it?
"Um… no reason, Professor," she said quickly, her tone light and unconvincing. "I thought I might be coming down with the flu, but it was just a headache. Nothing serious." She turned her attention back to the cauldron, avoiding his eyes.
Snape leaned back in his chair, studying her intently. His gaze was piercing, as though he could see straight through her weak excuse. He stood and crossed the room to where she worked. Hermione felt the weight of his presence but kept her eyes firmly fixed on her bubbling potion.
When he was just a step away, he raised his hand and pressed it lightly to her forehead. She flinched slightly at the unexpected gesture, her eyes catching the faint scar on his hand, the mark left from her bite in the forest.
"You're burning up," he said flatly.
Hermione pulled back, trying to play it off. "I've been leaning over a cauldron, sir. It's hot work."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "You look terrible," he stated bluntly.
Hermione couldn't stop the sarcastic reply that slipped out. "Thank you, Professor. That's very kind of you."
He ignored her quip, his dark gaze boring into her. "Miss Granger, if you're unwell, I suggest you take the proper steps to address it. Brewing while ill is not only foolish but dangerous."
"I'm fine, Professor," she said firmly, turning her attention back to the potion. "Really."
Snape lingered for a moment longer, as though weighing whether or not to push the matter. Finally, he stepped back, his expression unreadable.
"See that you don't botch the potion, Miss Granger. Poppy needs it sooner rather than later," he said curtly before returning to his desk.
Hermione exhaled quietly, grateful that he hadn't pressed her further. As she stirred the potion, she couldn't help but wonder how much he had seen through her deflection – and why he seemed to care at all.
A couple of hours later, Hermione was brewing the second cauldron of Pepperup Potion. She was almost finished; all that remained was the seemingly endless task of stirring. Resting her elbow against the table, she propped her head up on her hand, her eyelids growing heavier with each rotation of the wooden spoon.
Her exhaustion pressed down on her like a heavy blanket, and for a moment, she considered letting her eyes close, just for a second. But the instant she did, an image of a breathless, lifeless Snape flashed in her mind, jolting her awake. She straightened abruptly, her heart racing as she gripped the edge of the table.
"Granger?" Snape's voice broke the silence, his sharp gaze flicking up from his desk. "Is something wrong?"
Hermione shook her head quickly, avoiding his eyes. "No, sir. Everything is fine. I just… startled myself."
Snape's dark eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, but he said nothing. "Is the potion ready?"
"I believe so," she replied, regaining her composure.
"Then let's bottle it up. Poppy is waiting," he instructed, rising from his desk with a sweeping motion of his robes.
The next ten minutes passed in silence as they worked together to bottle the potion and organize it into crates. Once finished, they carried the crates to the Hospital Wing, the weight of the task feeling far lighter than Hermione's exhaustion.
The moment they entered the large room, Madam Pomfrey's face lit up with relief. "Severus! Just in time! I've only one vial of potion left, and the students keep on coming."
"Well, here it is," Snape replied curtly, gesturing to the crates. "I have other matters to attend to, but Miss Granger will assist you with administering them."
Hermione blinked in surprise but managed a small smile, nodding. "Of course, Madam Pomfrey."
"Thank you, dear," the mediwitch said warmly. "Here, start with that corner, if you please."
Hermione nodded and carried her crate to the far end of the now-crowded room. She placed it at the foot of the first bed, retrieving a vial and handing it to the first patient, a second-year Gryffindor boy. "Drink this," she instructed gently. "It'll help you feel better."
The boy nodded, taking the vial and drinking it quickly before lying back against his pillow. Hermione moved to the next bed, where another second-year Gryffindor awaited her.
When she reached the third bed, however, she stopped in surprise. Sitting up in the bed was a small blonde girl with flushed cheeks.
"Harriet!" Hermione exclaimed softly, recognizing the Hufflepuff first-year she had helped earlier.
"Hi, Hermione!" the girl said brightly, her voice slightly hoarse but filled with enthusiasm.
"Here," Hermione said, handing her a vial with a reassuring smile. "Drink this. It'll make you feel better, I promise."
"Thank you," Harriet said, taking the vial and drinking it in small sips. When she finished, she reached out and took Hermione's hand, her small fingers curling around hers. "Can you stay with me, please? I don't like being alone."
Hermione hesitated, glancing at the many occupied beds still waiting for her attention. "I have to help the other children, Harriet," she said gently, giving the girl's hand a small squeeze. "But I'll come back as soon as I can, okay?"
Harriet nodded reluctantly, her small face brightening slightly at Hermione's promise. "Okay. Thank you, Hermione."
With one last reassuring smile, Hermione stood and moved to the next bed, determined to finish quickly so she could keep her promise to Harriet.
When Hermione finished administering the potion, she mentally counted the students she had helped: five Gryffindors, four Ravenclaws, four Slytherins, and three Hufflepuffs. She carefully placed the empty vials back into the crate and turned toward Madam Pomfrey, who was busily tidying her supply cabinet.
"Madam Pomfrey," Hermione began, walking over to her, "how long will it take for the potion to take effect?"
The mediwitch turned, her expression patient. "Well, that depends on the individual, my dear," she explained. "Most will start feeling better within the hour, but for some, it could take a little longer."
"I see," Hermione replied with a nod. "And how long will they need to stay here?"
"As soon as the steam stops coming out of their ears," Madam Pomfrey said with a small smile, "they're free to leave. Until then, they'll need to rest."
Hermione smiled faintly at the thought of the telltale Pepperup steam. After a brief pause, she hesitated before asking, "Would it be all right if I stayed a little longer? One of the first-year Hufflepuffs… She needs someone with her."
Madam Pomfrey's stern demeanor softened, and she placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Of course, dear. That's very kind of you. Just don't overdo it – you look like you could use some rest yourself."
Hermione gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you. I'll only stay for a little while."
The mediwitch nodded before returning to her work, and Hermione made her way back to Harriet's bed. The little Hufflepuff's eyes lit up as soon as she saw her.
"You came back!" Harriet said, her voice still scratchy but filled with relief.
"I told you I would," Hermione replied warmly, pulling up a chair beside the bed. "Now, let's keep you company until you're all better."
Harriet smiled, and Hermione settled into the chair, the weight of her exhaustion momentarily forgotten.
It took nearly two hours for the steam streaming from Harriet's ears to dissipate, but even then, Madam Pomfrey wasn't ready to release her—or any of the other sick students for that matter. She insisted on keeping everyone in for further observation, taking no chances with the flu making its rounds through the castle.
Hermione stayed by Harriet's side the entire time, speaking softly to her, offering reassurances, and occasionally holding the little Hufflepuff's hand. Harriet finally drifted off to sleep, her small frame rising and falling steadily with each breath.
Hermione leaned back in her chair with a soft sigh, exhaustion tugging at her. She considered heading back to her quarters to rest but decided to stay a little longer, just in case Harriet woke and needed her again.
As the room grew quieter, Madam Pomfrey approached her, her expression softened with gratitude. "Miss Granger," she began, her voice low to avoid waking the children, "I must say, you've been a great help tonight. Thank you for staying with her."
Hermione shook her head, smiling faintly. "It's no trouble, Madam. I just didn't want her to feel alone."
The mediwitch nodded, her gaze flicking briefly to the sleeping Harriet. "She's lucky to have you looking out for her. I can handle things from here, so why don't you go get some rest?"
"I think I will," Hermione admitted, finally allowing herself to acknowledge just how heavy her limbs felt. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."
As she stood to leave, she hesitated for a moment before adding, "Oh, Madam Pomfrey?"
"Yes, dear?"
"My… roommate is having some problems. I'm afraid he keeps having these… nightmares. He's too proud and stubborn to ask for help. You know how Slytherins can be, but I'm quite worried about him. Do you think you could help him somehow?" Hermione hated lying to the mediwitch, but she wanted to avoid any unwanted questions.
Madam Pomfrey gave her a concerned look before nodding. "I'm sorry that he couldn't come to ask for help himself, but I suppose you're right. Just let me see what I can find."
"Of course. Thank you, Madam," Hermione replied, relieved.
A few moments later, Madam Pomfrey returned, holding a small vial of shimmering lavender liquid. "Take this and give it to Mr. Malfoy," she instructed. "Tell him to drink just a sip before sleep. It should keep the bad dreams away."
"Thank you, Madam," Hermione said, carefully taking the vial. "I'll make sure he gets it."
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to examine the new students that just came in," Pomfrey said briskly, hurrying off to check a couple of pale-looking Hufflepuffs.
Hermione slipped the vial into her pocket and turned back to Harriet, who was now sleeping peacefully. The sight brought a faint smile to her face, but it quickly faded as she thought about the real reason she'd requested the potion.
The truth was, of course, the potion wasn't for Draco, it was for her.
As Hermione left the hospital wing and walked through the dimly lit corridors back to her quarters, she clutched the vial tightly in her hand. She hated lying, especially to someone as kind as Madam Pomfrey, but she couldn't bear the idea of admitting her struggles outright.
The translucent lavender liquid shimmered faintly under the flickering torchlight, and Hermione wondered if it could really help – if it could keep the nightmares at bay, even for one night.
By the time Hermione stumbled into her room, it was well past midnight. Exhausted, she grabbed the vial of potion from her pocket, uncorked it, and drank more than the recommended sip. She didn't care, she really needed some dreamless sleep. Kicking off her shoes but still dressed in her school uniform, she collapsed onto her bed.
The potion worked almost instantly. For the first time in what felt like weeks, she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep… at least for a while.
Then something shifted.
A faint light pierced through the darkness, and Hermione stirred. Her eyes fluttered open to find herself lying on a bed made of green moss, deep in the Forbidden Forest.
"No," she whispered, dread pooling in her stomach. She sat up as the eerie sound of movement reached her ears. She didn't wait to see what it was – her legs moved on instinct, carrying her away as fast as they could.
Before she knew it, she was standing in the all-too-familiar clearing, clutching her sides and gasping for breath.
Across the field, a low moan of pain broke through the silence. Hermione's stomach churned as she moved forward, dread mingling with determination. She wasn't surprised to find a body on the ground. This time, she didn't hesitate. She knelt down, her hands trembling as she reached out.
Before she could do anything, her surroundings warped. She was no longer in the clearing but in the Shrieking Shack.
The man on the ground groaned, his breath shallow. She recognized him immediately.
"Don't die! Please, don't –"
But before she could finish, his breathing faltered. Each exhale grew weaker until… nothing.
The world around her froze, and Hermione sat paralyzed.
"No! Not again!" she cried, her voice breaking. "This can't happen! This didn't happen!"
Her own screams jolted her awake. She sat upright, her heart racing, her breaths ragged.
A pair of sharp blue eyes stared back at her.
Hermione yelped, nearly falling off her bed. "What on earth are you doing here?" she demanded, glaring at her roommate.
"I came to check if you were alright," Draco replied, his tone clipped. "You were talking in your sleep. Loudly."
"Well, as you can see, I'm perfectly fine," she snapped. "Now, if you don't mind, please leave me alone."
Draco's lips tightened into a scowl. "Fine," he bit back, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.
"Insufferable girl," he muttered under his breath as he retreated to his own room. He had woken up again to the sound of her shouting and had only come to check on her out of genuine concern. And how did she respond? By snapping at him and sending him away.
He was about to crawl back into bed when he heard movement outside his door, followed by a hesitant knock. He opened it, raising an eyebrow at the sight of Hermione standing there, looking sheepish.
"I'm sorry for how I treated you," she said softly.
Draco sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "Don't worry about it. It's fine."
"Well… good night then," she said, turning to leave.
"'Night," he replied, watching as she walked away. But instead of hearing her door close, he heard the sound of her collapsing onto the couch in the shared living room.
With a sigh, Draco stepped out of his room and approached her. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," came her muffled response, her face buried in her arm.
Draco sat down beside her unceremoniously, waving his hand toward the fireplace. Flames sprang to life, filling the room with warmth. "Can I stay here?"
"Yes," she murmured.
"Good, because I wasn't planning on leaving," he said matter-of-factly, earning a small chuckle from her.
"I'm sorry about earlier," Hermione said quietly.
"I know," he replied. "And I told you, it's alright."
The two sat there for a while, the crackling fire filling the silence as their conversation drifted to lighter topics. For the first time in days, Hermione felt a small weight lift from her chest.
An hour later, Hermione's head lolled against the back of the couch as sleep claimed her. Draco glanced at her, shaking his head with a faint smirk. "Typical Gryffindor," he muttered under his breath.
He grabbed a blanket from the nearby chair, draping it over her carefully. With a yawn, he leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes, giving in to his own exhaustion.
The fire burned steadily, casting a soft glow over the unlikely pair as the castle settled into silence.