And So It Goes

Chapter 1

Healing the Wounds

"In every heart there is a room
A sanctuary safe and strong
To heal the wounds from lovers past
Until a new one comes along"
-"And So It Goes" by Billy Joel

The following autumn Ron Weasley broke his wrist during the first Quidditch practice of the season. Hermione did not usually attend practices; however, Harry had persuaded her to accompany them to this one. It was Harry's final season as the Gryffindor team captain and he was determined to instill as much luck as possible in his ragtag team. The incident in question escaped Hermione's immediate notice, though. Despite the early hour she had brought along her books and was battling to keep her homework from blowing across the nearly deserted pitch. As soon as Colin Creevey's misdirected bludger unseated Ron in the early morning mist the thump of his body hitting the pitch drew Hermione, who quickly left her books forgotten in the stands.

The fact that it was Hermione's birthday on this same exact day had not escaped her notice. She fervently hoped that the others would overlook it. The growing number of attacks on families in outlying areas, and the ever present fear of an attack on their school, left Hermione in little mood to celebrate. A few quiet words from Ron, Harry and Ginny would be plenty.

The morning was certainly off to an uncelebratory start as Hermione escorted Ron to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey fussed over the injury while Ron sat on a bed fidgeting beneath the mediwitch's wand. Even after her healing charms were finished, Madam Pomfrey insisted he stay a few more hours, concerned he would sneak out to the pitch again given the opportunity. Facing a morning in the infirmary with Ron, Hermione walked over to the window and whispered into the morning air, "Accio Textbooks." In a matter of moments her books landed lightly in her arms and she carried them over to Ron's bedside.

"'Mione, you're not honestly going to study are you? I thought you were here to entertain me," Ron said with the trademark Weasley grin touching every corner of his features.

"Entertainment? Am I suddenly a lounge singer?" Hermione responded with a wry little smile.

"As nice as that sounds, I was thinking more along the lines of wizard chess."

"I'm not sure you should be doing that right now, Ron. You're supposed to be resting, remember?"

"Come on, 'Mione. I'll use my other hand. It'll be fine."

Hermione screwed up her features in a blatant look of disapproval at the idea. The conversation never made it any further, however. At that moment the door to the long, sterile hall they were sitting in burst open as if caught by the draughts gusting around the castle. As Ron and Hermione looked up at the noise their breath caught at the sight that greeted them. Standing in the door, framed by the early morning glow flooding the halls, was Professor Snape looking drawn and worn.

This dramatic entrance in and of itself would not have been out of place for the austere looking wizard. The bundle of robes stretched across his arms added a sinister element to the scene, though.

* * *

Head Boy Draco Malfoy did not know that Hermione's birthday was upon them. Seeing as she was the Head Girl, perhaps he should have taken some notice of this detail. The personal life of the relentlessly stuffy Gryffindor had never been of interest to him, though, nor did he imagine it ever would be. The night before Hermione's 18^th birthday, Draco apparated (illegally, without a doubt) into a forest clearing in the north of Scotland. There he was greeted by a ring of wizards dressed in black and barely visible by the faltering firelight. The tests they inflicted undoubtedly shook the young wizard and yet, in the end, he did not break in the face of their trials. At the end of the night Lucius' son stood before the Dark Lord himself and took the Mark that had altered his father's life forever. The apparition back to the gates of Hogwarts school was the final burden on his weakened body, however.

As daybreak lit the sky the young man collapsed in a heap underneath the gothic statues guarding the school. In the shadows of the grounds another wizard waited for him, knowing the chance that Draco would come back leaning on death's door. The wizard went out and, carefully picking up Draco's broken body, carried him up to the castle in the dawning light. A spell could have been used to levitate the patient up to safety. The older wizard knew, however, that time was too precious to be lost with such clumsy charms.

The wizard draped against the morning chill carried the body of Draco Malfoy into Hogwarts with the laughter of Gryffindor Quidditch players echoing from the pitch.

* * *

Hermione gasped at the sight and bolted from her chair beside Ron's bed. The chess game quickly forgotten, she helped Snape settle the inanimate body upon the nearest bed while Ron looked on in disbelief. The sudden flurry of activity also drew Madam Pomfrey, who was staring at the limp form with uncertainty.

"What happened to him, Severus?" Madam Pomfrey whispered.

But as the adults just looked at each other in horror, Hermione was already pulling off his constricting robes and running her eyes and fingertips over Draco to discover his most obvious injuries. In retrospect she would be baffled by this instinct, although her natural curiosity in solving problems likely played a role.

"It is undoubtedly a combination of Dark curses, Poppy. I can make a guess at some, but I was dismissed a number of hours before they finished with Mr. Malfoy."

"He's cold and clammy, and his breathing isn't efficient. And his eyes aren't focusing... It looks almost like a hybrid of Cruciatus and the Draught of Living Death," came Hermione's voice, lost in concentration.

Snape and Pomfrey turned to Hermione with mildly puzzled looks. Had the scene not been so serious it would have perhaps been comical. But without missing a beat both Snape and Pomfrey moved closer, drawing Hermione into their group as they worked feverishly on Draco; Ron took the chance to sneak back to Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

During the night it became clear that a roadblock had been reached. In the hours approaching morning Poppy Pomfrey fell asleep on a medical book at her desk. Snape, having reached the limit of his usefulness, was in Dumbledore's office discussing the situation in strained tones. Hermione, however, was still awake.

The youngest member of the impromptu team, and presumably the least in need of sleep, was still poring over books to find what possible combination of previously known Dark curses and potions could have produced such an effect. As the hours ticked by she grew only more determined. Draco's breathing was getting more and more labored. Without a breakthrough soon, he would die.

Sometime in those wee hours, when a young mind under pressure is strung out on adrenaline and too many cups of tea, the inspiration comes to her. Call it a lightening bolt, a light bulb, or simply an epiphany, Hermione rushed to the cupboards and began throwing ingredients onto a trolley. Within an hour her potion, an appropriate Slytherin green, was bubbling as she murmured incantations and prayers to whatever deity would listen over the unlikely brew. Part of her said she should wake up Madam Pomfrey to ask permission before she administered her creation. The other part, however, could see the look of despair on the woman's face, even now shrouded by sleep.

If this didn't work- she didn't really want to consider the option just yet- he would pass in his sleep. This was likely inevitable anyway were no other solutions quickly found, and perhaps he would be better off than any left behind to fight the war. At the very least they would have rid the world of another Death Eater. Madam Pomfrey had tried to ignore the barely visible lines of the Dark Mark on Draco's forearm. Hermione shivered to think that she may be saving him only to allow him to go out and kill others. Not one to assume the role of Creator lightly, the woman accepted that her own conscience demanded her best effort, Draco Malfoy and his selfish choices be damned.

Without thinking about it any more, Hermione walked silently over and administered her potion to the sleeping patient. As the minutes passed his breathing did not cease. Indeed, it seemed to improve. Slowly but surely Draco's skin regained its warmth and his breath seemed to approach a normal state. The thought that her crazy idea might actually have worked settled on her body and mind like a warm blanket.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape entered the infirmary at 6 o'clock the next morning after an all-night discussion on the best way to handle the situation. Both men stopped in their tracks as they noticed a most unusual sight.

The Head Girl seemed to have fallen asleep in the chair next to the Head Boy's bed. Barely civil in their waking states, they had relaxed in slumber so that their heads shared the same pillow, curly brown hair lying in contrast to brilliant blond. The most amazing part of the situation, though, was that Draco had returned to a fairly normal color. His breathing sounded regular and he appeared to be resting peacefully.

Dumbledore approached the sleeping pair with a smile of mild bemusement. Snape walked directly past the bed to where a cold cauldron sat in the corner. Looking beyond the fact that the cauldron had not been cleaned properly, the professor peered in with wonder at the substance that had apparently cured the Head Boy's mysterious condition.

Hermione faded into consciousness as she became aware of hot breath on her face. Opening her eyes she discovered she was sleeping face to face with Draco Malfoy. With a start she tried to sit up and her body promptly rebelled. Her back and neck ached from having slept slumped over the bed. The patient sharing her pillow looked remarkably better, she thought to herself through her morning grogginess. Pale and weak, but closer to life than death. Had her potion really worked, then?

"Apparently so, Miss Granger."

Looking up she found the Headmaster watching her with a mix of pride and affection in his deep blue eyes.

"It would seem that you have cured Mr. Malfoy."

From behind her Hermione heard a cold and familiar voice, "So this is your handy-work, Miss Granger?"

Preferring to direct her answer to the Headmaster, Hermione turned to the wizened wizard with worried eyes and replied, "I was desperate, sir. He wasn't going to last much longer."

Dumbledore nodded slightly and walked over to join her at Draco's bedside. He leaned down and touched the young woman's hand, "I know, Miss Granger. I myself had concerns as to his prognosis. Thank you for bringing him back to us."

Hermione nodded slightly at the thanks as another snarl came from behind her, "And on what basis did you administer your concoction, Miss Granger? How did you know that it would not simply finish Mr. Malfoy off in his sleep?"

Hermione turned around and, rising from her chair, looked Snape in the eye from across the room. Armed with the Headmaster's approval, she felt emboldened. "Perhaps I should have left him then, Professor? I'm sure your Death Eater devices could have finished him off more than adequately without my assistance."

His obsidian eyes flashed. "I would watch your tongue, Miss Granger. Especially when speaking of things you know nothing about."

Dumbledore glided between the two that he preempted the impending staring contest. "That will be enough for this morning. Severus, may I suggest that once Poppy sees fit to release him, you take Mr. Malfoy to your rooms and debrief him? Miss Granger, you will follow me."

Professor Dumbledore walked from the room with Hermione a step behind him. Snape looked around and, seeing Poppy Pomfrey still sound asleep at her desk, swore under his breath. "Merlin, that woman would sleep through the fall of Voldemort."

* * *

Hermione settled in a chair across from the Headmaster. "I'm sorry about that outburst, sir," she said meekly. "It was out of line."

"It most certainly was, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied sternly. "But I think we can overlook shipping you to Azkaban this once," he added with a chuckle and slight smile. "It would seem that there is another matter to deal with at the moment, such as the fact that I appear to be sitting across from a naturally gifted mediwitch."

"Excuse me, sir?" she asked incredulously. "I think my success is more luck than anything else."

"Knowing you, I highly doubt that. Your instructors have been telling me for a number of years now that you have outgrown your use for them. Perhaps we have found a more suitable outlet for your talents."

"But, sir, I still have another year before I will qualify for an apprenticeship-"

"And if I left Mr. Potter locked in Gryffindor Tower because he was not a licensed Auror this war would not be proceeding nearly as well. Considering your experiences of the last few hours, I doubt I need to remind you of the fact that in wartime we all must rise above the ordinary, Miss Granger."

At this bit of reasoning Hermione nodded and bit her lip as if thinking very hard about the situation before her. "What can I do, sir? You know I will trust your judgement."

Dumbledore nodded in reply, "Good. In that case you may be excused from all of your classes save Transfiguration. You will need that one to pass your Apparition test, I believe. All the others can be completed using a more 'practical approach'. On Monday you may report to Madam Pomfrey. She will have some projects for you to begin working on."

With this the kindly old wizard got up and walked around the desk. "You are worthy of the Gryffindor House, Miss Granger. I wish that I could tell you that you have already seen the worst you will see. The battle outside is getting worse, more so than even the Daily Prophet reports or the Ministry knows. In the coming months you will see things I do not wish on anyone your age. You are, however, very strong. Know that myself, the other professors, Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy will always be here to help you."

Hermione's eyebrows flew up at the mention of Draco.

"Indeed, Miss Granger. Young Mr. Malfoy is the newest spy among our ranks."

Dumbledore took a moment to study Hermione's reactions and then continued, "I must thank you again for saving his life. This information, however, must stay between us, Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape. This secret is far too dangerous to risk an accidental leak."

Again Hermione nodded and this time she stood as Professor Dumbledore led her towards the door. "Get some rest, Miss Granger. And may I suggest some hot chocolate from the kitchens? I always find it helps when my mind is troubled."

* * *

She lay on her bed still fully clothed, not knowing the last time she'd eaten. It seemed ages since she'd bathed. And yet she lay on her bed motionless, lost in the sea of fabric that made up her canopy. Her mind was lost. Perhaps her soul as well, but more importantly her mind. In the previous years she had worked on minor projects, added her ingredients to the cauldron brewing freedom. She felt so mature, so prepared and yet, in one moment she was very much a little girl. Her actions may have been swift, her mind may have lived up to its clever potential, but it was all a lie. A defense mechanism. She had seen Draco Malfoy standing on death's doorstep, waiting for the formal invitation to enter. No matter her long-term dislike for the young man, she would not have wanted him to go through such an ordeal. An ordeal for such an idealistic cause- her idealistic cause.

And Snape. She could still see him standing in that doorway, calm and collected as ever, determined to give his student a fighting chance. So stoic, so dark, so unreachable. Merlin. This had to stop. Her unreasonable attraction to the man had been ruling the darker depths of her mind for nearly a year. At first it was so simple. She wanted to touch him. An arm, a hand, a finger. Anything to just relieve the primal urge exerting itself with increasing determination. And then it went too long. The desire brewed and steeped and a simple touch would no longer be enough. She needed something more.

From the depths of her body, a fevered pitch grew that taxed her self control. Every sarcastic word, every sneer, every rustled breeze from his cape. She, the perfect student, the model Head Girl, wanted him. She didn't know the first thing about men, about sex, about adult relationships. But she would have given anything to have pulled him into a closet or followed him into his quarters and, ultimately, fucked him senseless any way she could have had him.

The foolish ramblings of her inner hormonal teenager. A dry and bitter laugh rose deep in her chest. Never had she done more than kiss a boy, and here she had spent months of her life fighting, and then giving herself over to, the idea of possessing a man more than twice her age in a way that would not only be carnal and socially despicable, but likely painful as well.

Today this stopped. She had now, laid out before her, the work of a grown woman. The responsibilities demanded her entire being, body and soul. With a determination worthy of a Gryffindor, she exiled her wayward attractions to the furthest recesses of her being. Hermione Granger closed her eyes and allowed a restless sleep to claim her.