A.N: Hey everyone! I was able to write this today since my spring break just started. Yay!

A huge thank you to everyone who left such kind reviews! I truly appreciate them, and I can't express enough how grateful I am.

This chapter is a bit intense, so I hope you dive in and enjoy!

PART15

A warm hand landed hesitantly on my shoulder. Soft. Gentle. I flinched at the unexpected touch, but it didn't pull away.

Granger.

I barely had time to process it before I realized—my face was wet. I wiped at it hastily, heat rushing to my cheeks.

What the hell am I doing?

And what the bloody hell did I say?

The weight in my chest grew heavier. I couldn't bring myself to meet her gaze, so I stared at the floor instead, hoping it might somehow swallow me whole.

"You know," she said, her voice quiet, careful, "at least I'm here."

This was bad. Worse than I thought. I must have said something humiliating.

I swallowed hard. "I—" My voice cracked, so I stopped and cleared my throat.

She sighed. "It's okay, Draco. You're just running a fever. It makes you a little..." She hesitated, searching for the word. "Unfiltered."

The same fever that's been hitting the first-years. The one killing them.

"I kind of like it, though," she added, almost playfully. "You're less of a git when you're delirious."

I huffed. "Is that supposed to be comforting?"

She smirked. "A little."

I rolled my eyes. "What are you, then? My enemy, or... what?"

She tilted her head. "I told you—it depends on you."

I let out a dry laugh. "Definitely an enemy, then," I muttered, shaking my head.

She shrugged. "Fine. A tolerable one, at least."

I shot her a look, but she ignored it.

"Now, I have a question for you," she said, her tone teasing. "One you'll definitely refuse."

I smirked weakly. "You're not great at persuasion, you know that?"

"Oh, don't worry, I haven't tried yet."

I let my head fall back against the stone wall behind me. "Fine. What are you offering in return?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, there you go. Draco Malfoy is back."

I rolled my eyes. "Well?"

"Hmm. What should I offer?" She tapped her chin, pretending to think.

"Maybe just answer one of my questions first."

"Alright," she said, crossing her arms. "What is it?"

I opened my mouth, but somehow, the words tumbled out before I could stop them.

"What am I to you?"

The moment the question left my lips, my stomach twisted.

Oh, Merlin.

What did I just ask?

Just the fever. That's all. Just as Granger said. I really need to get a grip.

She blinked, lips parting slightly as if I'd caught her off guard.

"Oh, Draco," she said with a small laugh, shaking her head. "We just talked about this. You said we were enemies, remember?"

"That's what you are," I said, barely above a whisper. "But what am I?"

She rolled her eyes, but there was something softer in her expression now.

"You're not really acting like Malfoy right now," she said after a moment. "So I guess... I could call you a friend."

Something in my chest tightened.

"But I'm still your enemy?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, barely above a whisper.

She studied me for a second, then nodded. "Alright. My turn."

I sighed. "Go on, then."

Her expression grew serious.

"I need to see your wound."

My stomach dropped.

What?

No. No way.

"Not happening," I said immediately, gripping my side.

"You asked me to help, didn't you?" she argued, shifting closer. "I might actually be able to—"

"No." My voice came out sharper than I intended. "I'll give you anything else, but not that."

She exhaled, frustrated. "Draco, why?"

I clenched my jaw.

"Because you're still my enemy," I muttered. "And I still don't believe you."

She looked at me for a long moment. I could see the hesitation in her eyes, the way she was deciding something. Then, before I could say anything, she moved closer.

I tensed. Her breath was warm against my skin, and for some reason, I didn't pull away. She hesitated—just for a second—like she was giving me a chance to stop her. But I didn't.

And then, everything else faded.

Her touch was light, careful, like she wasn't sure if this was a mistake. My heart pounded, my mind still sluggish from the fever, but I was acutely aware of every inch between us disappearing. It wasn't rushed, wasn't forced. Just… there.

I didn't know what to do with it.

It was too much and not enough all at once.

When she finally pulled back, I exhaled shakily, only now realizing I'd been holding my breath. The space between us felt different—charged, unspoken. My skin still tingled where she had been.

I swallowed hard, my thoughts scrambled.

How many times had this happened?

And why, Merlin, was it always her?

Draco blinked at her, still looking dazed, as if the fever had fogged up his thoughts.

"What... was that for?" His voice was hoarse, uncertain.

Hermione tilted her head slightly, a small, unreadable smile playing on her lips. "Nothing. Just proof."

"Proof?" He frowned, rubbing his temples. "What the—proof of what?"

"That we're something other than enemies." She met his gaze without hesitation, her expression steady.

Draco stared at her. His fevered mind struggled to keep up.

"Okay. Not okay," he muttered, shaking his head. "What's that something else supposed to be?"

What was it?

Why was she being so annoyingly vague?

And why the hell was she still standing so close?

"Who cares?" Hermione said with a shrug, as if the answer didn't matter.

Draco scoffed. "Your enemy cares. You said we were friends, Granger. Friends don't just—" He gestured vaguely between them, still looking baffled. "—do... whatever that was."

Was he angry? Shocked? Panicked? She couldn't quite tell.

"Alright, fine," she sighed. "I'm sorry. Forget about it." Then, she added teasingly, "Want me to Obliviate you?"

For a second, she thought he might say yes. But instead—

"No."

His voice was calm. Still.

No?

Seriously?

"Why not?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Draco exhaled heavily, dragging a hand through his sweat-damp hair. "Because we don't have time for this. We have, what, five minutes left? And somehow, wiping my memory doesn't feel like the priority right now."

Hermione smirked. "Oh, I wonder why it's not."

His eyes darkened. "You really need to stop," he muttered, suddenly sharp-edged again. "No one noticed that my wound is tearing me apart because a certain reckless Gryffindor is too busy messing with my head."

Hermione took an instinctive step back. "Oh..." Her voice was quieter now. "I didn't mean to—"

"Just heal it," he cut in flatly.

And then, without another word, he started unbuttoning his shirt.

Hermione's stomach twisted.

Wait—what?

He was actually showing her?

A second ago, he would have rather died than let her see.

Maybe this whole ridiculous 'proof' process had been a good thing after all.

As he pulled back the fabric, the wound was revealed—if it could even be called that.

Hermione felt her breath catch.

It wasn't just a cut. It wasn't something that could be explained away as an injury from a fight or an accident. It was dark, almost ink-like against his pale skin, an ominous X-shaped mark that seemed burned into him, sharp at the edges like it had been carved there deliberately.

A cursed mark.

She had seen something like this before. In a book. That night.

Draco watched her, expression unreadable. "Well?"

Hermione swallowed hard. "Well... I'll find a way to heal it. I promise."

"You better, Granger."

She was already running through possibilities in her mind, flipping through every spell, every potion, every mention of cursed wounds she could remember.

But before she could say anything else, Draco pushed himself to his feet.

"And now," he muttered, brushing dust from his trousers, "we should get back to our dormitories before someone finds us here."

Hermione frowned, standing as well. "I don't think we are both going back to our dormitories."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Oh? And why's that?"

"Because one of us," she said, crossing her arms, "needs to go to the hospital wing."

Draco's smirk disappeared.

"No," Draco said simply.

"Yes," Hermione argued. "Just look at yourself! You're—"

Draco let out a slow breath, his gaze locking onto hers. "Yeah... still a no," he said, voice lower now, more controlled. Then, after a beat, he added with a smirk, "But since you're so bloody insistent, let's make this simple—one of us is going to the hospital wing, and the other one's playing escort. And since I'm clearly half-dead, that means you, Granger."

Hermione blinked.

Then, despite everything, she let out a short, breathy laugh. "Oh, sure. Why not?"

And for some reason, she couldn't stop laughing.

"I'll go with you," Granger said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

I'll go with you.

The same words Pansy had said before. Careless. Obligatory.

But when Granger said them… they landed differently. Settled somewhere deep, somewhere uncomfortable.

And I hated that I noticed.

I forced myself to scoff, to brush it off, but the words clung to me anyway, refusing to be ignored.

The fever was still making my head spin, my body felt sluggish, heavy—but one thing cut through it all, sharp and clear.

Her voice. Her scent, still lingering in the air between us. That maddening, barely-there trace of something warm, something soft, something undeniably hers.

And worst of all—my lips still tingled with the memory of it.

A.N: I really hope you enjoyed it! Be sure to check out the next chapter when it's updated!(^^)