The Lost Nott

Draco was sitting on his bed with some light reading when the door opened. He’d grabbed one of the NEWT level Ancient Runes guides from the library before he left the castle earlier. A few weeks ago, he likely would have chosen to spend his evening up in the Hogwarts Astronomy tower with Hermione. It hadn’t taken more than one afternoon together for Draco to know it was his favourite pastime—being with her. But that wasn’t an option for him anymore, and with Severus’s excuse to avoid the Slytherins on top of his already too productive work schedule, Draco was left with free time.

At least, he had been.

Up until his door opened and closed without anyone coming inside.

“Draco, I need your help.” He heard Theo’s voice before he saw him. The sound came from an empty space across the room, that is, until something happened and out of no where, Theo appeared. He was standing in the middle of their room, cradling Hermione's unconscious body in his arms. "I fucked up."

Draco immediately jumped out of his bed. His textbook long forgotten as he approached his brother. At least, until he got closer, and Theo jumped away.

“DON’T!” He shouted and Draco froze, confusion and concern mounting. “Don’t touch her. You can’t touch her.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked. He tried to take another step forward to see if Hermione was okay, but Theo moved backwards as he did so. “What’s happened? Why can’t I—”

“Because I need your help dammit!” 

“What?” Draco didn’t know what emotion he was supposed to feel, but Theo looked as if he might have been freaking out.

“I-I didn’t mean to! I didn’t know what to do! Mólis árchise na fonázei kai na léei prágmata kai panikovlíthika!” He said, Theo’s hands were pale as they held Hermione tightly to him.

Draco’s reaction was primarily anger as something in him loathed to be away from her while she was hurting. But it warred with his confusion, unsure if he’d misheard Theo or something else. Instead, his volume climbed as he responded.  “What?! What do you mean? What does that mean?!”

“Ήtan atychima! Pote den ithela. Έna lathos! Eipe oti efeuge kai ego panikovlithika!” Theo broke out, his voice cracking a bit as he spoke far too fast in what Draco could now confidently say was not English or any language Draco spoke. Which left one answer.

Draco grimaced at his brother’s switch, which only ever occurred when he was truly panicked or scared and tried to force a calm into his voice. “Theo, I’m going to need some English from you, mate. You’ve got to tell me what the hell you’re doing here, and it can’t be in Greek.”

“Ti; Den milao sta ellinika.” Theo glared at him. But when Draco only stared back, his brother froze. “FUCK.” Theo shouted.

Draco nodded his agreement impatiently.  “Yeah, my thoughts exactly. Now tell me what happened and why your sister’s currently unconscious in our room.”

Theo didn’t answer immediately, instead he turned and walked towards his bed. He took several moments to carefully set Hermione down, ensuring she was alright, and her head rested on the pillow before he looked back at Draco.

This time when he spoke, his voice was less panicked, but his eyes still held the fear Draco had seen when he’d walked in. “I—I didn’t mean to. You have to believe me when I say I don’t know what happened. One moment we were arguing—talking—I mean— we weren’t fighting. There was nothing wrong! We were talking about quidditch for Salazar’s sake—or, or” Theo looked away and his arm threw out beside him carelessly. “Bloody muggle handball or something! I thought we were—I thought it was helping. I thought it was making it better. I thought she was feeling better. I mean—I was trying to, I thought it was distracting from what happened, but—but I thought it was nice!”

He looked at Draco as though hoping for answers, but Draco had none.

“Theo, what happened? I don’t understand. What actually went wrong?”

“That’s the thing!” Theo started. He took several steps towards Draco and away from the bed as his voice lowered. “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. One minute we were talking, and it was—it was everything. I was making fun of her for hating quidditch. And the next she was looking at me like I was some kind of stranger and accusing me of kidnapping her and drugging her—”

“Wait—what?” Draco gaped at him.

“She thought I’d kidnapped her and done something to her—she said that I—"

“So, you decided the best solution was to stupefy her and then actuallykidnapher?!” Draco interrupted, still not sure whether he was hearing right—and partly hoping he wasn’t. Draco could feel the outrage growing in him on behalf of his mate as he stared at his best friend. “Theo…” He shook his head and looked over at the sleeping witch.

Theo spoke up then, his voice far too defensive for his words. “I didn’t stupefy her.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, I didn’t stupefy her.” Theo said more firmly. Stupidly, if Draco was honest.

His eyes shot up from where Hermione was laying and landed on her brother. Draco didn’t attempt to corral the glare he was shooting. “I’m sorry. What do you mean you didn’t stupefy her?” he asked, hoping to Merlin Theo was lying.

“I mean I didn’t. She’s not been hexed.”

“Then why the fuck is she like this?”

“Because I said her name.” Theo’s voice was less confident, and his eyes were looking everywhere but in Draco’s direction.

“You said her name?”

“Yes.” His brother’s eyes were now concentrated intently on his shoes.

“You said Hermione?” Draco asked, his voice leading.

“No.”

“So, you said Granger?” Draco clarified, and only then did Theo look up at him, a shadow in his eyes that hadn’t been there in months.

“That’s not her name.” He told him, this time his voice was less clear, wavering slightly.

“Yes, it is.”

“No. It’s not.” Theo shook his head as his voice climbed. He walked towards Draco until they were standing just a foot away from each other. “That’s not her name and it will NEVER BE HER NAME.”

“It is her name Theo.” Draco tried to keep his voice calm, but he couldn’t contain the anger that was radiating through it at Theo’s carelessness. “Her name is Hermione Granger and we both know it because I know you wouldn’t use the other.”

“It’s not her—”

“—Not after all the pain we know it causes her. Not after the inhumanity that is whatever has been done to her—”

“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT”

“YOU CAN’T HAVE ACCIDENTS WHEN OTHER PEOPLE’S SAFETY IS ON THE LINE!”” Draco snapped stepping forward, so they were nose to nose. The frustration of them both was palpable, but he took a deep breath before speaking again. “You cannot be careless when it puts people at risk—Especially when it’s her, Theo. We have no possible idea what’s going on and yet you put her safety at risk—"

 “I would NEVER P—” Theo’s face was bright red with indignation as he spat the words.

“I know that!” Draco insisted. Not allowing the shouting to continue. “Don’t you think I know you would never do so intentionally? I know you, Theo. I know you will never see me in the same way, but you are the closest thing I have to family in this world—a proper family like the one your—” He almost choked on the words. Life had been far too unkind to Theo, and the wounds were a scar he carried around always. Draco’s eyes fell to the witch behind him and tried instead to centre his thoughts around the picture she made. “You are all that I have, Theo. Do you think I don’t know your intentions? Your mind? Frère, I do. But what is the point of scoring with a quaffle if you never catch the snitch?”

“Are you seriously trying to use a fucking—”

Draco’s hand reached to grab Theo’s shoulder before pulling back. “What is the point, Theodore? She is your sister, and she will be your Emmeline again, but not if you don’t think things through.”

“But I don’t know what happened! I hadn’t said anything of the sort that could have caused this.” Theo told him. His eyes were still fierce, and his shoulders were drawn, but Draco hoped the acquiescence back into the conversation meant he understood.

“So, walk me through it.” Draco said carefully.

“What?”

“Yes. Walk me through it. There has to be something you did—anything you said. Something that triggered—”

“I’ve already told you; I didn’t say anything.”

Draco ignored him, moving instead to his desk. “Some kind of moment—some sort of reminiscence that brought her mind back to before and caused the curse.” As he spoke, Draco opened one of his compartments and pulled out some blank parchment and grabbed a quill from his satchel.

“What the hell is that Draco?” Theo asked, tossing a hand out in dismissal.

“Paper, Theodore.” He said, moving to his chair and sitting down.

• -

Draco made the first mark at the top of it and turned back to his friend. Theo was still standing in the middle of the room, but his attentions seemed more annoyed than angry now. Draco took it for a win.

“What are you doing now?”

“Making a list. Now tell me exactly what happened, starting from when you first saw her tonight.” Draco turned back to the table and poised himself to write.

Theo didn’t speak though, and when Draco turned around again his friend was grimacing. “That part’s, er…personal.”

“Personal?”

“Yes.” Theo gave no further information.

“What do you mean? Was everything alright?”

“I mean—mostly, no… But once she was able to calm down, I think so.”

“Calm down?”

And then Theo started talking, explaining everything that had happened from the moment he ran into Hermione on the stairwell, until he walked with her—disillusioned—into their dormitory. Draco resisted the urge to ask him questions throughout his retelling of the evening as much as possible, thought admittedly it was difficult. There were clearly things Theo wasn’t saying, given the nervous way his eyes would bounce up every so often when he paused to think. Draco didn’t want to pry, as strange as it felt to even think such a thing. But he was trying to be respectful.

Despite the fact that Draco and Theo had been inseparable, one in the same, for the last ten years, lately things had felt different. Draco knew Theo was frustrated. His magic had been increasingly temperamental over the last few weeks—a not so subtle correlation to the length of time since he and Hermione had last been in each other’s company—and as Draco’s magic fluctuated, so did his mood. Which meant he’d been rather rubbish company for the last few weeks, and as Draco’s roommate—and also the only person he trusted enough to be honest with—Theo had faced the brunt of it.

So, Draco was listening. And taking notes. The swot in him was sure that if they could simply pinpoint the exact moment when Hermione’s mind lapsed into a recollection, then they could prevent it from happening again. The swot in him had not expected to hear the name ‘Victor Krum’.

Draco would have liked to call himself mature. To be able to assure others that just the idea of Hermione speaking to a male classmate of his wouldn’t stand out to him. That he wouldn’t care. That his own status of—however unhappily—communicating with another witch would make him honourable enough to respect her decisions. Equality of the sexes and all that. That the notion of Hermione doing the same wouldn’t fill him with a sense of anger and jealousy like he had never felt before.

Draco would be disappointed.

Because despite knowing somewhere deep in his mind that he had no right to feel any kind of possession or anger over Hermione. That knowledge was buried under a whole load of other things such as hormones or something, and those things were saying very different things.

If she were there now, Draco would expect his mother to pop out of the doorway and hit him over the head with an old issue of Witch Weekly for thinking such things.

Instead, he tried to be subtle.

“Tell me again, what did Krum want exactly?” Draco asked impatiently, ignoring the way Theo rolled his eyes. “Why did he seek her out?”

“I’ll tell you again, as I have three times now: I don’t know. Hermione mentioned something about him asking for help studying—or not asking? I don’t know, Draco. She wasn’t exactly clear.”

“I know. But you said Krum was bothering her. I just don’t understand. Why? He’s a sixth year. He has no business even being around her. What could he want?”

It didn’t make sense to Draco. Despite enjoying the Scottish warmth and minor reprise from his Bulgarian National team quidditch schedule, Krum felt he was going mad at Hogwarts. Draco had overheard him blathering on to his friend Alexi during a meal the other day. Apparently, while the witches at Durmstrang were relatively used to Krum’s presence, the ones from Hogwarts were not. According to Victor, if one more bint tried to follow him when he went into the washroom, he was dropping out.

At the time, Draco hadn’t cared a bit what he was overhearing. If anything, he’d been annoyed they were speaking so loudly in the small Durmstrang dining hall. Now he wished he’d paid more attention. Maybe could pay a Hogwarts girl to follow him around all day, just enough to make Krum go home?

“I don’t know Draco. Probably nothing—”

“But it couldn’t have been nothing. He probably wouldn’t leave her alone when she asked. You said she was upset. He—he made her upset.” Draco’s mind was whirling with anger that someone had hurt his mate. His eyes were locked on Hermione’s pale face and puffy eyes as she slept. “The bastard had the audacity to speak to her and then upset her as if he had any right. He’s so bloody arrogant. I swear to Salazar, Krum thinks he can just have whatever he wants. As if just because he fucking decides so, she’s just his—”

“—I really think that’s not what happened—”

“But it is! He’s trying to conv—”

“I think he tried to ruin her bag, actually. Or maybe he didn’t try, and it just got ruined anyway.” Theo said, gesturing pointedly to the satchel in the middle of their room. Draco hadn’t noticed the bag at all before, but he looked at it now.

“Wait a moment. What do you mean? What happened to it?”

“I don’t know.” Theo shrugged, moving over and grabbing it off of the ground.

The bag was formerly a brown canvas of some kind, now stained black with a hole in the side. As Draco examined it from Theo’s hands, he decided it must have been muggle-made. There was some strange teeth-like contraption at the top that seemed to be half opened. When Theo reached inside the bag to look further, the wall of teeth separated, forming two ends around the top that expanded. He’d never seen such a thing before. He couldn’t decide if the mechanics made it brilliant, or rubbish, and resolved to ask Hermione about how it was made, one day. If he got the chance.

But for now, “it’s covered in ink.” He said and glanced up at Theo.

“I know. She said she fell, and the ink well shattered and…” Theo began pulling several books out of the bag, grimacing at quantity of them that were stained black. “This must be what was ruined.”

“To put it lightly.”

Draco reached a hand out, taking the bag from Theo. Ruined, was a bit of an understatement to be honest. Draco carefully pulled the contents of the bag out and settled them on top of his desk. Perhaps it was a bit of an invasion of privacy to be going through her belongings like this, but he had no intention of intruding. Draco merely wanted to know if anything might be salvaged.

Theo snorted and filtered through the books he’d collected.

“Runes, Potions, and History of Magic. Though honestly, History of Magic looks fairly fine. It’s just the cover that’s soiled.”

“Let me see.” Draco said, leaning over to look at the stack. Theo was right. The books were all stained, and the history text seemed to be the least of them. The other two though… “That’s fine. She can have mine.”

“What?”

Draco opened one of the drawers by his desk and pulled out the necessary texts before turning back and comparing them to those that were damaged.

“Potions, it’s the same. Runes is better, probably. I think my copy is a newer edition. The one problem is we don’t take History of Magic, so I’ll have to order that for her.”

“Draco, what?”

“Well, I’m sorry but I don’t just keep Hogwarts textbooks lying around in my trunk. Especially not ones for courses Durmstrang doesn’t even offer. I’ll send the owl to mum tonight. Tell her something…” He shrugged, tapping his fingers on the top of his desk and trying to think of what he could say. His mum wouldn’t care, she’d buy him a full set of cauldrons if he asked. But his father… “It’s alright. Not important. I’ll figure it out.”

“Draco, you can’t just give Hermione your textbooks.”

“Why not?” He frowned and held up the ruined runes text. “She needs them, Theo. You can’t possibly expect her to try and get through the next seven months with these.”

“Obviously, I don’t. And we can order her some, but what are you going to use then?”

“I don’t know. Maybe yours.” He said emphatically. “And that’s not the point Theo. You said she was stressed. That she was upset, I’m just trying to fix it. Hermione’s books were damaged, now they’re not. What’s next?”

“Next?”

“Theo, catch up. We’re fixing this.” Draco’s eyes scanned over the debris he’d placed in careful piles. He landed on the snapped feathers and bits of glass. “Alright, that’s easy enough, Quills. Er…”

Draco moved to open a different drawer and grimaced when he looked inside. Unfortunately, the contents of it were severely depleted. Despite Draco’s usual tendency to keep a full stock of writing supplies, it had been a frustrating few days and he may have taken that out on several quills.

“Thee?” He asked, looking back as Theo rolled his eyes.

“Oh, if only someone had told you that you were going to regret snapping all of those on purpose.”

“It wasn’t on purpose. They were just weak feathers.” He grumbled. “And I didn’t snap all of them.”

“Animal.” Theo scoffed amicably. “It should be impossible to go through five quills in two weeks.”

“It wasn’t five.” It was eleven.

“We share a rubbish bin you dolt. I can see one poking out of it right now.”

“Are you going to lend your sister a quill, or continue making fun of me for breaking mine?”

“Obviously.” Theo moved to his own desk, from which he pulled two pens and a case of ink. “I can multi-task. And I think this might be that muggle karma thing Potter was talking about.”

“Whatever.”

Draco took the items from Theo and stacked them on top of the clean textbooks. He looked back across the desk. Honestly, there wasn’t much else in Hermione’s bag. Except for an unusual number of worn but blank parchments, there were only odds and ends. Which confused Draco. Mostly because he’d spent several weeks studying with her for hours and he was fairly certain he understood how her organizational systems operated.

“Hey, do you know why Hermione’s not got any kind of work in here?” He asked, glancing up.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we take nearly all of the same classes as her. We have an essay due for McGonagall in the morning, a few sheets of work for both the charms and runes class, and the project for Severus is due at the end of the week. But Hermione doesn’t have any of them in here. It doesn’t seem like her to not have started on it all.”

“No, I don’t—Oh shite.” Theo cursed.

“What?”

“You’re right.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re right, Draco. I don’t know what I was thinking—I think I must have—whatever. But you’re right. It’s all gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that’s it.” He pointed to the stack of blank parchments in front of Draco. “That’s what she said was ruined. She said it was all ruined. And then she said that he tried to fix. That she tried to stop him, but he did it anyway, and she said he made it worse.”

“Who?” Draco’s mind froze.

“Hermione.”

“No. Who made it worse?”

“Oh. Krum. She said it was Krum. I told you they ran into each other and that’s when her bag was ruined. But then she said that’s how all of her work got ruined.” Theo ran a hand through his hair. “Bloody hell, I mean, the parchments blank. Do you think he used like a scourgify on it?”

“Salazar.” Draco sifted through the papers. “What a fucking idiot. I mean—shite. It’s all gone.”

“What the hell are we going to do? I mean…Draco she was really upset. She looked like, scared even, at having lost it all.”

“The only thing we can.” He told Theo, and then they got to work.

---- ---- ---- ----

“Papa?” Emmeline said softly when she heard the pop of apparition. Leaning over the back of the long couch, she watched as Papa crossed over the terrace doors of their summer house and into one of the sitting rooms. “Where did you go?”

Papa’s face broke into a massive grin when he noticed her.

“Well, hello there.” He said in Greek as he rounded the couch. He let his body flop backwards to lay beside her and Emmy quickly flipped herself over to face him, beaming as she forced her way onto her Papa’s lap. “I had to pop down to the library for a bit. Needed to check on something.”

Her eyes widened at that. “The Alessandra library?”

Emmy wasn’t allowed to go with him to that one yet. Papa said it was too big and she’d get lost. But Emmy didn’t think Papa understood how much worse that made it. A library that was bigger than Draco’s?! Emmeline was desperate to see it. She was certain they would have all of the Narnia’s. She only had the first three.

Papa laughed lightly and it made her cheeks pink. “Yes, exactly. The Library of Alexandria. When you’re older, Emmeline, I’m going to take you and we can spend the whole day together there, alright?”

“Alright.”

“I can’t wait, Poppet.” Emmy felt his hand brushing through her curls.“And, I’m sorry I missed you earlier. I didn’t realize you would be awake yet, love. Where is your mama?” he asked.

Papa spoke slowly so Emmy could have time to parse out the words. Papa and Mum said they had to know both Greek and French for when they visited family over holidays. Emmy liked Greek a lot, but sometimes Papa’s accent got really thick when he was excited, so he talked slower usually so she could practice.

“Mama’s asleep. Theo’s with her.” She told him and Papa’s arms wrapped around her as he pulled her into his chest.

“Hmm.” He said, kissing her forehead. “And what about you, darling? You didn’t want to sleep? It’s quite early still.”

“I did sleep.” She answered, slipping back into what she knew best. “But Draco was hurting so I had to wake up.”

Papa’s arms stiffened as he held her, but he didn’t really move. “Oh?” He said and Emmy thought his voice was kind of funny. “What do you mean Draco was hurting, dear? Did he write you?”

“No.” Emmy shook her head, burying her face in Papa’s house robes as she did. “But I could hear him crying.”

This time Papa did pull away from Emmy and moved to hold her by the shoulders, she tried to protest and hold on tight, but Papa was stronger and made her move. “Darling, I need you look at me right now. How exactly do you know Draco was crying?”

“I dunno.” She shrugged nervously. Papa looked serious and Emmy was starting to get scared that maybe she shouldn’t have told him. Was it bad? Had Draco done something wrong? Had she? Emmeline didn’t know. But maybe if she tried to take it back Papa might forget, so she shook her head and looked at her lap as fiercely as she could.

Papa didn’t forget though, instead he ducked his head, so their eyes met and pulled Emmy’s chin up with him. “Emmeline,” he said, and she just knew from his tone he was going to switch back to Greek again.

“Mhmm.” She shook her head again, quickly as she mumbled.

“No games.” Papa wasted no time as he spoke sternly. This time Papa’s accent was really strong which could only mean he was really serious, and Emmy wished she hadn’t said anything at all. She didn’t mean to get Draco in trouble. “I need to know what you saw. It is for Draco’s safety, dear. Tell me now. How do you know Draco’s upset?”

“I told you papa,” She mumbled, her lip quivering. “I could hear him.”

“What do you mean? Is Draco here?” He stood, carrying Emmeline up with him.

“óchi.” No.

“Where is Draco?”

“He didn’t do anything, Papa. I swear Dragon didn’t do anything.” Now she was full on crying, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to get him to understand. “He didn’t do anything. He didn’t know. Please don’t be mad. Papa, he didn’t know.”

“Shh, shh, I’m not mad love. Don’t cry. I’m trying to help. I want to help Draco. Not hurt him—”

“Please don’t hurt him, Papa.” Emmeline whimpered into her father’s robes. She wasn’t looking where they were going, but she could feel him moving quickly across the manor.

It wasn’t until he stopped moving and set her down that she opened her eyes again. She could hear Papa whispering something and saw him nudging Mama awake. Emmeline crawled over to where Theo was curled up beside Mama and closed her eyes tightly. Maybe if she could fall asleep, then when she woke up Papa wouldn’t be angry anymore. Maybe Draco would be safe and—

Hermione woke up with a start and a headache. Blindly, her hand shot out to brush the curtains back from her bed and check what hour it must be. Except her hand didn’t brush a curtain, causing her to tip over a bit. And as Hermione opened her eyes and looked around, she realized she wasn’t in her bed.

She was in a cabin—a ship cabin. Specifically, a kind she recognized. Except, Hermione didn’t understand. Despite her eyes feeling exhausted, as though waking after an evening of great emotion, Hermione has no memory of the night before. And that thought terrified her.

Hermione pushed herself to the edge of the tall bed, from where she was sleeping and got ready to run. She still in her uniform and sure she felt alright, and yet, Hermione was still afraid. She didn’t know whose room she was in or who was in the room with her. At least, not until she landed on the ground and looked up.

And then she wasn’t scared anymore. It happened rather like a wave. A wave of trust, or calm, or something, because when Hermione saw the head of blonde hair across from her, she knew she was okay. Though, definitely still very confused. And somewhat concerned given the mysterious circumstances—she’d really hoped that the last few weeks had not been a fluke and that this lapses in memory were over. But as Hermione watched Draco sleep, she knew she was at least alright in the moment.

Except…maybe Draco wasn’t. Hermione stood fully then, in the room and took a moment to turn around. She had spent the night in the boys’ dormitory before, just the one time after the Goblet had called Draco’s name and Harry and her had come to keep them company. Hermione had worried then that Draco would be upset about the tournament. Now she worried about him for different reasons.

Their room looked much the same as it had, all those weeks ago. Except now, where she and Draco had fallen asleep, Theo was resting, completely passed out. Hermione realized she must have fallen asleep on Theo’s bed, which she supposed was an explanation, though it did nothing to relieve the guilt forming towards the boy sleeping at his desk.

“Draco?” Hermione whispered. She walked towards him carefully then and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Draco, wake up.”

He didn’t wake, though, he did adjust his head in his sleep so that it was facing her direction, from where it rested on his desk.

“Draco, come on. You have to wake up now.”

“Mmm.” Was the considerate groan he gave.

“Draco, it’s Hermione. You can go to your bed now. I’m sorry I stole it. But you have to wake up, or else you’ll have a crick in your neck all day.”

“Mm, Hermione.” He groaned once more. Except immediately after Draco jumped. Literally, he sprung out of his chair, startling Hermione backwards as he stared at her, wide-eyed. “Hermione! What are you do—you’re alright!”

It took her a second to find her words at seeing his face again, but once she did, Hermione stepped forward.  “Shh! Be quiet or else you’ll wake him too!”

“What?” Draco frowned. He turned when Hermione pointed at the wizard asleep on his bed, though. “Oh, he—sorry, I didn’t realize.”

Hermione shrugged awkwardly. “No, don’t be. Please, I’m sorry I commandeered his bed. I don’t even remember falling asleep, honestly, but it was probably an accident.”

“Oh? What do you mean?” Draco looked at her funny and Hermione tried to hide her wince.

“I just—I…I don’t remember.” She looked up at him, hoping he’d understand, but feeling lost that he probably couldn’t. “I don’t remember, and it keeps happening and I thought it had stopped, Draco, but I keep waking up in different places and having no idea where I am or how I got there and—and I’m scared.” She finished quietly.

Hermione could feel Draco’s body heat as he took a step closer to her before he froze.

“Of me?” He asked quietly, and Hermione didn’t fully no why, but this she could answer with full certainty.

“No! No not at all. Never…actually.”

“Good.”

And then Draco stepped forward and Hermione leaned in. It felt strange, to some extent, they hadn’t actually talked in several weeks. Not since the last time she was in this room, when she told him off before leaving. It should have felt awkward, to see him again. To be near him again, like this. And yet, it didn’t, not really.

Though, something about it was different, Hermione thought. Draco must have changes soaps, or perhaps it was just her exhausted state, but as he wrapped his arms around her, Hermione felt strangely whole and warm. As though surrounded by a blanket—and a large one at that. Because Hermione also noticed that, where just a few weeks ago hugging Draco meant resting her head by his shoulder, now it seemed she only came up to his chest.

“Thank you.” She whispered, and briefly Draco’s grip tightened. She could hear his heart beating in his chest, it was fast.

“We’ll figure this out, Hermione.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I am. I have hope…which…isn’t something I’m terribly good at. But…we will.”

“What if something happens?” Hermione would be lying if she said she’d not thought about it before. Not often, because really, she’d felt safe all the times before. But, what if she didn’t the next time? What if she wasn’t around people she knew? That she could trust?

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

“But how could I know even if it did, Draco? I—I can’t even remember what I ate for dinner last night, much less how I got here—” Her voice broke, and Hermione felt her eyes sting. Draco’s arms let go and when Hermione opened her eyes, he was leaning at her eye level, watching her. “What if somebody tried to—tried to—”

“Nobody’s going to try anything Hermione.” He told her seriously.

“How can you know?”

“Because I’ll be there to make sure they don’t. To protect you the moment you need it.”

“But you can’t always be there Draco.” She reached a hand up to wipe her nose lightly as she sniffled.

“Yes, Hermione. I can and I will, if you’ll have me.”

“Not always—”

“Yes. Always.” He didn’t whisper the last word. Just stared right into her eyes so she would know he was telling the truth. For a moment, Hermione found herself lost in the blue ocean of his irises. She felt like he might be able to see inside her mind. But then he spoke.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

“What?” Hermione’s brows jumped as Draco took a step back to his desk.

“There’s something I need to tell you, but I really need you to not freak out.”

“Kind of hard to when you don’t know what’s wrong.”

Draco reached behind the side of his desk, where she couldn’t see and pulled something out. A bag.

“Nothing’s wrong…per se. It’s just, a rather unusual predicament.”

“Alright.” Hermione said, nodding slowly, though her eyes were watching the satchel in his hands curiously. “So what’s this…predicament about?”

“Your stuff.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped in both confusion and worry. “My stuff?”

“Yes, um, it’s ruined.”

“It’s ruined?”

“Yes. I’m afraid so. And I know you can’t remember how it happened and everything that happened, but you were rather upset last night, and honestly, it’s completely understandable. I can only imagine what I would’ve done if I’d lost all of the work, I’d spent hours completing—”

“I’m sorry, what?” Hermione gaped between him and the bag, her stomach dropping as her worry became far more tangible. “What do you mean? What does that mean? I lost all of my work—can I find it?”

“Er, no. I’m afraid not.”

“YOU’RE AFRAID NOT?!”

“SHH!” Draco hissed. Throwing a glare over his shoulder, where Hermione remembered his roommate was still sleeping.

“Sorry.” She whispered.

“It’s fine. But really, I’m telling you this because it’s not something to worry about. Yes, all of your work was lost, but it’s not a big deal, because it’s all also been replaced.”

“Replaced?”

“Yes.”

And that’s when Draco held out the satchel he’d been carrying and gave it to Hermione. She took it, nervously opening the flap.

“It’s all in there. The charms work, potions project, transfiguration essay, and I even copied my notes for runes for you.”

Hermione looked up at him wide-eyed. “What?” She breathed. That was an insane thing to say. He couldn’t possibly be telling the truth. “You replaced it all?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Well, I just did it all myself, I suppose.” Draco answered casually. Hermione just stared at him.

“But you said this happened yesterday.”

“It did, last night.”

“But then how did you sleep, Draco?” She asked.

“Well, I—” He gestured to the desk where she now realized another stack of parchments lay. “didn’t.”

“What?”

“I didn’t sleep. I had to finish.”

“But this was over a week’s worth of assignments! It would have taken me days!”

“Really, it only took like ten or eleven hours.”

“Draco!” She snapped—quietly—astounded.

“I didn’t mind!”

“Why would you do this? Surely, you had better things to do—your own things to do!”

“None more important than this.”

“Sleep?”

“I can’t imagine I’d get any anyway, not when you needed help.”

And maybe that was it, because a little bit of her melted on the spot. Ire and all.

“Draco,” she said softly. Hermione set the bag down carefully on his desk before going to him and hugging him. Wrapping her arms around Draco’s neck, Hermione pulled him down. “Thank you, so much. You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

---- ---- ----

Hermione walked into the library that afternoon, feeling like a new woman.

She didn’t know why it was, exactly. Nothing had really changed about her since this morning, and yet, she felt so different. It was like her whole heart had breathed a sigh at relief that she and Draco were friends again. And they were. Hermione had forgiven him. Whether or not their relationship was romantic or involved attending the ball together, paled in comparison to just being in his company. Draco cared for her, and Hermione cared for him.

They were friends, and she was thrilled about it.

So much so, that she wasn’t entirely paying attention to her surroundings as she walked through the stacks. Hermione was completely caught off guard when she approached her usual table in the library, only to find someone already sitting there.

Victor stood up the moment he saw Hermione.

“Oh, hi!” She said, smiling as brightly as she was feeling as she set her new-far-to-expensive-for-a-gift-but-Draco-refused-to-let-her-give-it-back-and-insisted-she-keep-his-perfect-leather bag. Hermione had almost had a heart attack of guilt that morning when she’d opened it during her first class and realized his initials were carved on the inside. She’d even tried to convince him again during their runes lesson when she realized Draco had given her his bag, but the wizard was annoyingly stubborn.

“Her-mininny, I veen vaiting to zee you all day. You must know, I am zo zorry avout yezterday. I von’t imagine vat you zhink of me. Vut it von’t happen again. I vill make zure.” Victor's heavy accent yanked Hermione out of her thoughts and back to the moment. He was looking at her expectantly and Hermione tried not to make a face from how she was feeling.

She had no idea what he was talking about. Honestly, she was a little embarrassed by how guilty he felt when really, she couldn’t remember for the life of her whether it had even been that big of a deal at all. So, she decided to go with what she felt in the moment. And after Draco’s kindness to her, who was Hermione to not show someone compassion for what they were clearly torn up about?

“Oh, Victor. Please, don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal at all.”

“Vut you vere zo zad. I’m zo zorry.” He insisted. Hermione was about to reassure him once more, when he reached behind himself and pulled something out, a bouquet of flowers. Her jaw dropped as she felt her cheeks begin to heat. “Zese iz for you, Herminninonny. Az an apology. I really am zo zorry.”

“Oh, my goodness. Thank you,” she said, taking them awkwardly as he held them out. “They’re beautiful.”

“Just like you.”

“Oh.” The word slipped out. Hermione had been looking at the beautiful petals in her arms, but she nearly dropped them all at the same time with Victor’s declaration. Her face felt like it was on fire then, when she looked up at him. “Thank you. You’re very kind. I’m grateful, but really, there’s no need. We’re friends, Victor, I promise.”

“Yes?” He asked and Hermione nodded.

“Oh, of course. Yes, no need to worry. All is forgiven.” She would never admit it publicly, but Hermione was doing her best to end the conversation. Public displays of attention really weren’t her thing. And while she did mean what she said—for as much as someone who has no idea what they’re forgiving can mean it—Victor was looking at her strangely and Hermione wasn’t terribly fond of it.

“Hermininy?”

“Yes?”

“Das is good, yes? We are good?”

“Of course. Don’t worry about it.” She shrugged.

“Zen, Herminniny, vill you do me zhe honour of going zo zhe ball vith me?”

“What?” She asked, thoroughly convinced she must have misheard him. Hadn't they just been talking about apologies? Surely he hadn't said what she thought he did.

But he had. And when Victor spoke again, he said the same thing.

“Herminniny, vill you do me zhe honour of going zo zhe ball vith me?”

And really, she wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t actually know Victor that well. And a part of her was slightly curious as to what it was he felt the need to apologize for. Perhaps she should check with someone. But there was no time. And really, there was only one thing you could say when someone you’d just assured was your friend asked you to attend a ball with them, right?

So, Hermione smiled a little less brightly at him, but nodded emphatically and answered. “Yes, of course. I’d love to go to the ball with you.”