A.N: Hello, everyone! Sorry for the late update! Thank you to all of you who have followed me—I really appreciate it! I'm so grateful for your support! I truly hope more of you will join this journey, and I can't wait to share more with you all!

PART13

"OI, HERMIONE! WAKE UP! YOU'RE GONNA MISS BREAKFAST!"

Hermione's brain registered the noise, but her body refused to cooperate. She felt someone shaking her—not gently, but like they were trying to restart a broken broomstick. Groaning, she cracked one eye open. All she saw was red.

For a terrifying second, she thought she was bleeding.

Then her vision cleared, and she realized it was just Ron's hair.

"Merlin's beard," she croaked, her throat feeling like sandpaper. "What—?"

Ron exhaled dramatically, hands on his hips like an exhausted babysitter. "Finally! I've been shaking you for ten minutes! Do you have any idea how weird it feels to be the one waking you up? "

Hermione blinked slowly, her brain still rebooting. "M'not late…"

"Yes, you are!" Ron flung his arms out. "And you're always the one dragging us to breakfast like some deranged mother hen, so excuse me if I'm a little alarmed!"

Next to him, Harry was watching her with mild curiosity. "You okay? You look half-dead."

"I feel half-dead," Hermione muttered, rubbing her face. She yawned. "Had too much last night…"

Oh. Oh no.

Her exhausted brain hadn't processed the words before they left her mouth.

What are you doing Hermione?!

Panic jolted her fully awake. She had almost blurted out the biggest secret of her life—one that involved a certain blond menace and a certain terrible idea that had kept her up all night.

Ron squinted at her. "Too much what?"

Hermione's mind sprinted for an excuse. "Dreams! Too many dreams!" she said far too loudly. "Had a lot of them. Wild ones. Crazy stuff, really. You wouldn't believe it!"

Ron gave her a look. The kind of look that suggested he fully believed she was losing her mind.

"Oookay," he said slowly, exchanging a glance with Harry, who shrugged. "Well, if you don't get up now, you'll miss breakfast, and I'm not saving you a plate."

Hermione waved a limp hand. "You two go. I'll catch up."

They didn't move. Instead, they just stood there, frowning at her like she was a particularly suspicious potion ingredient.

"Seriously, I'm fine," she insisted, flapping her hand at them.

After another second of hesitation, they finally left—though not without looking back at her at least three times like anxious parents leaving their toddler at daycare.

The moment the door shut behind them, Hermione collapsed back onto her pillow.

What have I done?

Every single moment from last night came rushing back.

The book. The secret she had spilled. And—what she had done with him.

Her stomach twisted.

She couldn't think about this now. Not when she was already late. With a groan, she dragged herself to the sink and splashed cold water on her face. It helped. A little. Her voice was still hoarse, but at least her brain had crawled back from the grave.

Straightening her robes and yanking a brush through her hair, she hurried to the Great Hall.

The moment she stepped in, Ron spotted her and waved an arm wildly. "Oi! Over here!"

Hermione ignored the amused glances thrown her way and jogged over. Honestly, people were probably shocked that she of all people had overslept.

"Sorry I'm late," she muttered, sitting down.

Ron stared at her. "What is wrong with your voice?"

"Noticed it this morning," Harry said through a mouthful of eggs. "Sounds like you swallowed a hedgehog."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's fine. Just a—bad dream." She cleared her throat dramatically. "Very horrifying."

Ron didn't look convinced, but luckily, his stomach distracted him.

"Oh, by the way," he said, stuffing toast into his mouth, "I, uh, forgot to do the Herbology essay."

"Again?" Hermione sighed.

"You mind showing me yours?" he asked, eyes wide and innocent.

Before she could even open her mouth, she got distracted.

Her gaze had wandered toward the Slytherin table. Crabbe and Goyle were stuffing their faces as usual, and Pansy Parkinson was cackling at something. But—

Where was Draco?

Her stomach twisted for the second time that morning. Did he oversleep too? Or—her breath hitched slightly—was something wrong?

His wound. The damn curse. Had something happened because of—because of yesterday?

"Hermione? Hellooo?"

Ron waved his hand in front of her face.

"You still thinking?" he said. "It's a simple question—yes or no. And it's a ye—"

"No!" Hermione snapped, shaking herself out of it. "You need to learn to do things yourself."

Ron groaned like she had just personally ruined his life.

"Besides," she added, "even if you do lose points, I can fix it. Professor Sprout likes me."

Ron muttered something about favoritism and went back to his food.

But Hermione barely noticed. Her appetite was gone, replaced by a nagging worry she didn't want to acknowledge.

Because the truth was—no matter how much she really didn't want to care—

Draco Malfoy was missing.

"Well, Draco."

My father is smirking at me.

His grip tightens around Granger's wrist.

I can do nothing but stare.

Then, he says it. Mudblood.

My teeth clench so hard I feel a sharp pain in my jaw. I force a laugh, but it comes out strangled.

I jerked awake. My eyes snapped open to the ceiling above me. Silence.

For a second, I thought I'm the first one up, but then I sit up and—what the—

Every bed was empty.

Panic jolted through me. Am I late for—

I whipped my head toward the clock. No. I had just missed breakfast.

I let out a slow breath and ran a hand through my hair. My throat felt raw, like I had swallowed sand. I tried to clear it, but it only made things worse. My head pounded as I pushed myself up, and for a moment, I felt unsteady. I sat back down. What the—

"Help me, Granger, seriously, all because of—"

The words slipped from my mouth before I even realized I was speaking. My eyes widened, and I snapped my lips shut. Bloody hell.

I glanced around, my pulse quickening. Thankfully, the room was empty. No one had heard me. But seriously—what was wrong with me?

I shook my head. Today was going to be hell.

And worse—I had to meet her.

I remembered the promise I had made yesterday. After lunch. Great. Just perfect. The last thing I wanted was for Granger to see me like this.

I rubbed my temples, but the pounding in my skull didn't ease.

"Why did you promise that, Draco?"

The words escaped before I could stop them. My voice was rough, almost hoarse. I went still. What the hell is wrong with me?

I was either exhausted, delirious, or possibly—no. Not sick. Absolutely not.

I exhaled sharply, forcing my thoughts back into place. I just needed to forget about the stupid promise. Act like it had never happened. That was all.

But then—

My father's letter.

It flashed in my mind, clear as day.

I don't know when I can lose her.

I swallowed hard.

I had to warn her.

But then—another voice cut through the fog in my mind.

So what?

So what if I lost her? So what if something happened? Why did I care?

Father would kill me if he knew what the bloody hell I was up to.

Protecting the Mudblood?

My head throbbed again.

"All essays, pass them forward, please!"

Professor Sprout's voice rang through the greenhouse, rustling the leaves of the potted plants as students reluctantly shuffled through their parchment. Ron turned to Hermione, his expression one of sheer horror. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his hand as if it weighed a ton.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" Professor Sprout asked, already sounding weary.

"I... uh… I forgot my essay," Ron admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Professor Sprout gave him a kind smile. "Oh, don't worry about it, dear."

Ron's face lit up in a mix of surprise and gratitude, only for it to come crashing down a second later.

"I'll just take ten points from Gryffindor. Anyone else? Speak now, or I'll find out myself, and detention might be on the table."

Ron let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a whimper and an indignant huff, and shot Hermione a betrayed look. "See?" he hissed.

Hermione only shrugged, her gaze already drifting elsewhere. Her eyes landed on the far side of the room, where a certain blond sat, absentmindedly fiddling with the edge of his book. She didn't realize she had been staring until she caught herself wondering—

Seriously, where had he been this morning?

"So," Professor Sprout continued, clapping her hands together, "I strongly recommend you all start showing me your essays in advance if you care about your house points!"

Ron let out a long-suffering sigh. "At least I didn't get detention," he muttered, slumping in his seat.

His relief was short-lived, however, as Draco Malfoy raised his hand, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the entire ordeal.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" Professor Sprout prompted.

Draco tilted his head, his voice carrying an exaggerated innocence. "I wrote my essay, Professor. Really, I did. But—I accidentally left it on my bed."

"Oh dear," Professor Sprout said, shaking her head sympathetically. "Not to worry, just hand it to me when you get the chance, dear"

Ron nearly fell out of his chair. "WHAT?! No points from Slytherin?!"

Professor Sprout merely blinked at him before turning back to the lesson. Ron groaned loudly, throwing his hands up in defeat.

"Unbelievable. Why does she believe his bloody excuse?! He's such a prat!"

Hermione smirked, flipping through her textbook. "Oh? And if Draco's a prat, what does that make you? At least he claims he wrote it. That's already more than you can say."

Ron gaped at her. "Wait—you believe him too?! Since when did you start calling him Draco?"

"She's just teaching you a lesson, Ron," Harry sighed, rubbing his temples.

"A lesson in what?! How to be an insufferable, lying Slytherin?"

Their bickering faded into background noise as Hermione's mind wandered. She had told Draco she would heal him after lunch… or had he given her permission to? She wasn't even sure anymore. Then Ron gasped, pulling her back to reality.

"Bloody hell, Hermione—your eyes!"

"What?" she blinked, confused.

"They're all red," Harry observed, frowning slightly but not looking particularly alarmed.

"Oh, you must have Arcane Fever!" Ron declared with the same urgency one might use for a dragon attack. "Fred had it once—or maybe it was George—"

"Maybe both," Harry added dryly.

"No way, I feel fine," Hermione said dismissively.

Ron shook his head. "Yeah, but first Fred got it. And Hermione, this is just like him! Bloodshot eyes, hoarse voice, reckless behavior—"

"Okay, and what's the worst that could happen?"

"You'll start losing your senses! Acting irrational! Making terrible decisions! Fred—no, George—went absolutely mad when he had it! It was chaos!"

Hermione frowned. Could that explain why she had been blurting things out without thinking?

"Sounds like you should go to the hospital wing," Harry said, his voice tinged with concern.

I made my way toward the door with Crabbe and Goyle but slowed when I caught sight of Granger, shaking her head at Potter and Weasley. I tried to ignore it, but something about the way she moved caught my attention. Suspicion clawed at my thoughts, and before I knew it, I was staring. Fantastic. Just what I needed—another reason for them to think I had some secret agenda.

Maybe I had been watching her too long.

"What do you want now, Malfoy?" Weasley snapped, arms crossed tightly.

I scoffed. "You must be obsessed with me, Weasel. I wasn't even—"

Then Weasley gasped, eyes wide with horror. "Merlin's beard—you've got bloodstains too!"

I frowned. "What the hell are you on about?"

Granger stiffened. "Ronald, there's nothing special about having red eyes! It's a coincidence that this prat has them too. Why are you so concerned?"

Oh.

Prat.

"Because Arcane Fever is rare! It only happens to people who spend too much time together!" Weasley exclaimed. "That's why George got it after Fred!"

"Of course not," Potter sighed. "Ron, the last thing you need to worry about is these two spending time together. That won't even happen in dreams."

"Yeah, right," Weasley muttered.

Yeah, right.

Even in dreams.

Reality was already chaotic enough.

I turned to leave, but Granger grabbed my wrist. My breath hitched.

"Where the hell were you this morning?" she demanded.

Weasley's face darkened instantly.

I ripped my arm away. "Why do you care, Granger?"

She hesitated. "Because…" Her voice faltered. "Because I need to check if you really did your essay."

What?

"To?"

"To tell Professor Sprout to give you detention! Ron lost ten points. That's unfair," she said matter-of-factly. "Besides, you're a Malfoy."

I raised an eyebrow. Clever, Granger. I watched as Weasley's anger melted into smug satisfaction. Of course, he was too thick to realize none of this made sense.

Potter, though, was watching Granger with something close to suspicion.

"Oh, is that so?" I smirked, tilting my head. "Then tell me, Granger—what's wrong with your voice? You sound awful."

I didn't wait for an answer.

I turned on my heel and strode away, ignoring Weasley's outraged yelling. Then Potter's voice rang out behind me:

"Who cares what Malfoy says?"

Yes.

Who cared?

No one.

Not a single person in this world cared for me—not truly, not from the heart.

And yet, when I glanced back one last time, I caught Granger looking at me, her lips pressed together, her brows drawn in something dangerously close to worry.

For a fleeting second, I almost believed she did.

A.N: Ha, Arcane Fever! I couldn't think of a better name… it does sound a bit odd, doesn't it? Anyway, the next chapter will be about their promise after lunch! Are they really going to meet? Will Draco manage to warn Hermione about the dangers? Find out in the next chapter—hopefully coming soon!