But Thy Eternal Summer Shall Not Fade

Hermione felt the arm on her stomach tightening around her waist and she crashed against her attacker's chest as he held her forcefully. She tried to struggle, but he raised his other hand to cover her nose as well as her mouth. She gasped for air, but he didn't let go. On the contrary, she felt him pressing forcibly against her back, and started to feel something sticky and hot soaking her jumper.

Her vision was starting to blur from the lack of air, when the boy let her mouth go and cried out as Crookshanks bit his leg. Hermione took a deep breath, floundering for more air, and tried to scream. But before her cry of help managed to exit her mouth, he freed her waist and she felt a wand pressing against her temple. "Another word and I--"

He didn't manage to finish his threat because the back door burst open and Harry and Ron ran down the stairs, wands at the ready, horrified at the scene in front of them. Hermione with a frightened expression on her face and behind her--

"Malfoy," Harry snarled, his wand stretched in front of him.

"Let her go," said Ron icily, his blue eyes flashing dangerously. "Although--"

"Come on, hit me," Draco cut him off, smirking. "I want to see if you can manage to hit me without hurting her as well." He said squeezing her waist.

Ron narrowed his eyes. "What do you want? Why aren't you with You-Know-Who and Snape? They kicked you out of the Death Eaters?"

Draco sunk the wand into Hermione's temple and she yelped in pain. "I don't think you are in the position for jokes, are you Weasel?" he hissed. "Or would you prefer to see what effect the Avada Kedavra has from this distance?"

"You little filthy--"

Hermione cried out another time as Draco made the wand turn in his hands. "Another word, Weasley-"

Harry placed a hand on Ron's shoulder. "What do you want?" he asked Draco.

"What does it look like?" Draco retorted.

"It does look like you are trying to get a one way ticket to Azkaban," answered Harry. "Let her go."

Draco laughed, a bitter sad laugh, almost painful. "So that you'll be able to hex me? I think not. "

"Let her go and we'll see," said Ron tightly.

Draco pressed himself against Hermione, and all of a sudden an unpleasant smell reached her nose. It was metallic and sour. Blood. It came from Draco and now from the back of her jumper as well. Only now did she notice that his hands were shaking a little, and from what she could see of his face he was as pale as the moon. She gathered all of her courage and took a deep breath. "Ron, Harry, don't hit him! He's wounded!" she cried, leaving everybody stunned, even Draco, who loosened his grip on her body.

"Hermione, what did he do to you?" Harry asked worriedly.

Hermione could feel Draco's breath on her cheek, hard and quick, but he didn't give any sign of wanting to prevent her from answering.

"Nothing," she said, trying to sound calm and forget that the son of a Death Eater had a wand pointed at her temples. "Nothing," she repeated.

"Okay, Malfoy, let her go and I swear that we won't kill you too painfully," Ron snapped.

As if he had just woken from a dream, Draco wrapped his arm around Hermione again, this time placing it higher than her waist. He slid his arms under her breasts and shot Ron a challenging glare.

"Take your dirty hands off her, Malfoy," Ron hissed dangerously.

"I'm shivering with fear, Weasley," Draco mocked.

"You better start," said Ron. His wand started to shake in his hand, he felt the muscles of his arm became numb from the tension and he bit his bottom lip, trying hard to stay very still and not lower his wand.

Draco started to laugh, but his laughter choked in his throat almost immediately and his vision blurred. An invisible force seemed to pull from behind his knees and he collapsed, dragging Hermione with him under his injured body. He let his wand go and for a moment darkness descended around him. The only vague sensation was Hermione's body under his own, and he liked it.

Ron and Harry hurried to her side and pushed Draco off Hermione without much grace. Ron helped her to her feet and stared at her back, horrified at what he saw. "Hermione, you are covered with blood," he said hoarsely.

"It's not mine," she said hastily. She turned and looked at Draco, who was now lying on his back on the cold grass of the lawn. There was a slash on his abdomen that went from one hip to the other, deep enough to soak his clothing with blood. His eyes were closed and he breathed stiffly as if even inhaling the cold air was hard work for him.

"We have to bring him inside, although he may die anyway ," she said hurriedly.

Ron looked at her as if she was crazy. "Hermione, he was going to kill you, and you want to bring him inside. We should leave him here and let him die of blood loss."

"Ron!" Hermione gasped in shock. "I can't believe that you would let him die."

Ron bit his bottom lip. "Okay," he muttered. He bent over Draco and picked his legs up, while Harry lifted his shoulders. They walked slowly carefully up the stairs and through the door that had remained open. They walked inside and brought him into the living room.

"Shall we drop him on the floor?" asked Ron mischievously.

"Ron! Put him on the couch," Hermione exclaimed, closing the door at her back and following them into the living room.

They laid Draco on the couch as best as they could. Hermione kneeled next to him on the floor, raised her sleeves and started to open Draco's shirt. Ron caught hold of her wrist before she could actually open the second button.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, raising her forcefully from the floor.

Hermione freed herself from his grip. "Trying to save his life," she snapped, kneeling next to Draco again.

"What's the point? He'll kill us after you save his life," Ron hissed.

Hermione turned towards him with narrow eyes. "I'm not a murderer."

Ron collapsed on one of the armchairs and glared at her back as she went on opening the buttons of Draco's shirt. It was a white shirt, pretty light for the temperature outside. That must be why, Hermione noted, his fingers were turning a faint shade of blue. Harry was bending over them from the back of the couch, following every movement of her fingers on Draco's chest. She tore the shirt open and gasped with horror. Harry's eyes opened wide and he gulped, trying to suppress a fit of sickness.

The wound that sliced Draco's stomach nearly in two was worse than she had expected. It was long and deep, and the lips of the injury were turning a strange shade of greenish-blue. She couldn't see the end of it, because the wound appeared to end under his jeans. Hermione gulped loudly and stood up.

"What could have cut him this way?" asked Harry hoarsely.

"Nothing human," said Hermione slowly. She looked at Draco's face, he was paler than she had ever seen him, and his features were sharper as if he had lost a lot of weight. His chest raised and lowered stiffly, as if the pain prevented him from breathing. "I need some of my books from upstairs," she said, turning towards Ron.

"What?" he asked, tearing away his eyes from Draco's wound with great difficulty.

"Ron, please," she begged with her voice low. "He'll die."

Ron rolled his eyes and got to his feet, he glanced at Hermione and said, "Okay, but I'm doing this for you. Not for him." With that, he disappeared up the stairs.

"Do you think that he will survive?" Harry asked, looking at her intently.

"I don't know, I've never seen something like this," she said. "Look at the edges of the wound."

"I know, it's strange, isn't it?"

"Strange? I read that there's only a thing that have this effect," she murmured. "Poison."

"Poison? Do you think someone poisoned him?" Harry speculated.

"I don't know. It's very likely that whatever was used to cut him this way could have been poisoned, but until I know what poison was used there's not much I can do," she finished. She brought her hand to Draco's face and touched his cheek and forehead. "I think he's hot."

She almost shrieked in surprise when Draco's fingers closed around her wrist. "I'm hot," he murmured, pushing her away.

"I meant your temperature," she said, trying to regain her composure. "How did you get this wound?"

Draco half opened his grey eyes and looked at her, his arrogant glare had disappeared and now he looked very much like a child that was silently asking for help. "I can't remember," he said stiffly.

"What do you mean you can't remember, Malfoy?" Harry asked. "Did they hex you or something?"

"Something," conceded Draco.

"So, next thing you'll tell us that you were under the Imperious Curse when you attacked Hermione, right?" Ron asked sourly, walking past them and placing Hermione's books on the coffee table behind her.

Draco smirked, even though it was painful. "No, I attacked her because I felt like it."

"You bastard--"

"Ron, please," Hermione whispered. "Don't tease him."

"Why don't you tell him not to tease me?" snapped Ron, collapsing again on the armchair.

"Because he wouldn't listen to me," she replied, her eyes wide with frustration.

Ron looked away from her, unable to bear her wide eyes filled with prayers to leave Draco alone. "What does he have?" he asked, concentrating on the dark sky out of the window.

"A large and deep cut on his stomach," Harry said. "And he may have been poisoned."

"Will he die?"

"Would you be happy if I died, Weasel?" Draco asked, glaring at Ron rebelliously.

"I can't say that I would cry," Ron hissed.

"When did you get the wound?" Hermione broke in.

Draco looked at her. She seemed genuinely interested, and he couldn't quite believe she was going to help him despite the fact that he had just attacked her. "I don't know," he whispered.

"How can you not know?" Harry asked incredulously. "It's not something that you got without noticing."

"It's all so confusing, since I got this," said Draco with difficulty. "The minutes seem like hours and the hours like days."

"It must be the fever," Hermione offered.

"Oh, yes, you seem very confused, Malfoy, for someone that has managed to find a place that was a secret shelter," said Harry, giving form to their fears for the first time. "Who brought you here?"

Draco closed his eyes and refused to say another word. His jaw was set forcefully, and his fists were clenched at his sides.

Hermione raised her head from the book she was consulting. "I don't know what kind of poison it could be, but I'll prepare some healing potions and see how his body reacts to them. Maybe, if we are lucky we can find something that will get rid of the poison."

"Something like an antidote?" asked Harry.

Hermione nodded. "Harry, Ron, can you boil some water?"

"And leave you here alone with him? I don't think so, Hermione," Ron said calmly.

"I'll be fine. He doesn't even have his wand and you'll only be in the next room," she said.

"One person is enough for boiling the water," Ron replied as he got up and walked towards the kitchen.

Hermione turned towards Harry after Ron disappeared into the kitchen. "Harry, can you please go upstairs and get the bottles that are on the bedside-table in my bedroom?" she whispered.

Harry looked at her and nodded. "If you need anything, just scream, okay?"

Hermione smiled. "Thanks," she said as he walked away. When he had disappeared up the stairs, she turned her attention back to Draco. He was sweating profusely. The blond hair stuck to his forehead made him look like a defenceless child. Without thinking about what she was doing, she brought her hand to his cheek and brushed his skin lightly.

"What are you doing?" This time, Draco's voice preceded his movements, but he caught her wrists again. He still had his eyes closed and Hermione didn't know how he managed to catch her so precisely.

Hermione gulped. "Just checking your temperature," she lied, as she didn't quite know what she was doing herself.

Draco shook his head and released her. "Not now, what are you doing with me? Why are you trying to save my life?" he seemed genuinely surprised.

"Because I'm not going to let you die in front of my eyes without trying to do something," she said forcefully. "I'm not a murderer."

"You didn't give me this wound in the first place," he said calmly.

"Yes, but doing nothing is just like causing you another wound, an even deeper one," she said. "Wouldn't you save my life if I was dying?"

Draco's eyes opened wide and he gazed at her, trying to understand if she was joking or if she was serious. He couldn't believe his ears. Save her? I would be the one that stabbed her, he thought. "No," he answered, looking at her as if she was crazy. "And I thought that you hated me as much as I did you."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, but apparently I don't hate you sufficiently," she said coolly.

Harry's steps on the stairs attracted their attention and Hermione looked up at him and smiled. "Thanks, Harry," she said as he placed the bottles on the table.

"Sure," he answered. "Have you discovered anything?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Maybe a bezoar would help," suggested Harry.

"Really? Great idea, Harry. And do you have one?" she asked sharply.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You're the one that brought all that potions and ingredients."

"I know, sorry. I don't have a bezoar either," she said. "Can you bring these herbs to Ron? And tell him to call me when the water is boiling."

Harry nodded and, picking up the bottles she indicated, walked towards the kitchen, where Ron was busy staring at the kettle. "Hermione said to call her when the water is boiling," he said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Ron looked at him. "I don't like it, Harry," he whispered.

"You don't like the water?"

Ron ignored him. "I don't like this situation. I don't like Malfoy."

"I know. It's suspect," said Harry, sitting on the table with his legs dangling.

"Suspect? It's more than suspect, he arrives here with a wound that he doesn't remember how he got it, and tries to kill Hermione. How did he find us in the first place? We arrived here only yesterday," he said.

"I know," said Harry thoughtfully. "Do you think it's just a part of Voldemort's plan?"

"Ask yourself, Harry. Would he be so crazy to nearly kill one of his Death Eaters and send him to you? His arch-enemy?" Ron asked seriously.

"Yes, he would. But the question is, why? And why Malfoy?" Harry asked in return.

"Do you want to know what I think we should do?"

"Does it killing anyone?" Harry asked worriedly.

"It depends on how you see it. We should kick Malfoy out of this house," Ron said harshly.

"Hermione would never let that happen," Harry sighed.

Ron looked at him intently. "You either," he said, shaking his head.

Harry looked surprised at Ron's statement. "What?"

"You wouldn't want to kick him out either," he repeated. "You still feel guilty."

"Guilty for what?"

"For the little incident in the bathroom, when you almost killed him," Ron replied matter-of-factly. Harry looked at him, taken aback, more for the way Ron was talking to him, rather than for what he was saying. He had never seen Ron talk to him like that. I've never seen him talk like that to anybody, he thought.

"You would feel guilty too," he responded darkly.

"If it was you, or Neville, or Seamus," Ron said slowly. "But not Malfoy."

"You don't know what you are talking about, not until you try it with your own hands," Harry snapped. "He was going to die, and it was all my fault. At that moment he wasn't Malfoy, but a boy that was dying because I tried a stupid hex on him without knowing what it could do."

"You--" The kettle's whistling interrupted them. "Go call Hermione, will you?" he asked, looking at the water.

Harry jumped down from the table and walked away without a further word. A second later Hermione entered into the kitchen with a tired smile on her face. "Thanks, Ron."

"For what?" he asked rudely.

"For the water." She looked at Ron, surprised by his tone.

Ron shrugged. "It was just water," he said. "Hermione, do you think that we should trust him?"

"Who? Malfoy?"

"No, Harry - Hermione, of course I'm talking about Malfoy," he told her, rolling his eyes. "He's a Death Eater."

"He's wounded and he's probably going to die," she declared angrily.

"If You-Know-Who was going to die would you heal him as well?" he asked sharply.

"You are talking nonsense," Hermione snapped. "Malfoy has been at school with us for six years and he's not--"

"Don't tell me that he's not a bad person, because he tried all last year to kill Dumbledore," Ron replied, raising his voice.

"He didn't kill him, though," Hermione retorted.

"Maybe you forgot that he managed to help the Death Eaters enter Hogwarts. Bill won't forget that, you know," Ron hissed.

"I'm not excusing him," Hermione snarled back. She turned her back, still covered in Draco's blood, to Ron. He saw her shoulders shaking and heard a choked sob, as if she was trying to suffocate a cry. "Will you go in the living room with Harry, please?" she asked in a broken voice.

"Hermione, I--"

"Please," she repeated more forcefully.

He sighed and walked out of the kitchen into the living room, where both Harry and Draco were looking at him. Draco seemed amused through his pain, while Harry had his eyes wide open.

"You know that from here you can hear everything?" asked Draco, smirking.

Ron shot him a murderous glare. "I don't give a damn about what you heard, Malfoy. Touch one of us with only one of your slimy fingers and I'll make you regret you came here in search of help."

"I'm not searching for help, Weasley," Draco said angrily.

"No, of course you aren't," snapped Ron. "You're just following orders, aren't you? What do you have to do? Suffocate us while we are asleep? Hex us at our backs?"

"Don't worry, I'll do whatever I have to do. You'll be the first," Draco hissed.

Ron shot him a nasty glare, then stormed out of the room, climbing up the stairs. They heard a door slam behind him.

Harry's eyes wandered from the stairs to the door of the kitchen where Hermione was now standing, looking uneasy with a glass in her hands. She looked at the stairs as well, but when she turned to meet Harry's eyes, she smiled awkwardly. She walked towards the couch and kneeled next to Draco. "Drink this," she said sternly.

Draco took the glass from her hands and tried to lift his head. Harry had to help him sit up. He glanced at the liquid in the glass, a whirling mix of pink smoke and blue liquid, and made a face. "Drink it," she repeated. "It's not poisoned."

Draco took a sip of it and coughed. "It's terrible," he snapped, shoving it back into Hermione's hand.

"Oh, really? Sorry, Malfoy, but we had no more Pumpkin Juice, you'll have to drink this healing potion instead," she said sarcastically.

Draco glared at her. "Can I lie down again? It hurts me to stay up," he said, trying to sound casual.

Hermione looked at the glass, he had drank less than she expected, but she didn't mind. There were other ways to make the potion come into contact with his body. "You'll have to lie down," she said and looked at Harry, who nodded and let Draco down carefully.

Hermione bit her bottom lip and looked away from them. "You'll have to - hum - open your jeans, Malfoy," she said awkwardly.

"I didn't know you wanted me so badly, Granger," said Draco, smirking. Harry had to restrain himself from making him swallow the potion, glass and all.

She shot him a murderous glance. "Your cut ends under your jeans. I need to see how long it is."

"I don't know if I'll be able to open it," he said with a sneer. "I mean, it hurts me to move my arms as well. Somebody should help me," he added, looking at Hermione with his eyebrows raised.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Oh, okay, don't worry," she said. "Maybe Harry can help you then."

"What? I'm not going to open Malfoy's jeans," Harry snorted indignantly.

"Maybe my arms don't hurt me quite so much," Draco said hastily. "Yeah, it looks like I can open my jeans quite easily."

"Wait!" said Hermione, turning quickly. "You are wearing underwear, aren't you?"

"Yes, he is," answered Harry, before Draco could make any dirty remarks.

She turned and looked at the edge of Draco's underwear, the wound reached it, but luckily didn't go any further. "Oh no," Hermione said sorrowfully.

"What? What's wrong?" asked Draco, trying to peer at his lower abdomen.

"The cut doesn't go under your hips, that means that you can still procreate," said Hermione, sighing in despair.

"Oh, yes, very funny, very funny indeed. I would roll off this couch laughing if I wasn't going to die," Draco snapped darkly, trying to drown out Harry's laughter.

Hermione smirked. "Stay still, this may sting a little," she said, and, placing a cold hand on his chest to keep him quiet. She poured the potion in the glass over his open wound. Following the line of the wound down to his stomach, she emptied the contents of the glass on him. At the beginning nothing happened, and when Hermione asked him if it hurt Draco said that he was more than fine and that very likely she hadn't been able to brew the potion correctly. Then slowly some smoke started to rise from the cut, and their senses were filled with much more information than they had asked for. A rather disgusting smell of burnt flesh reached their noses; the smoke stung their eyes, and their ears were filled with the low and persistent noise of flesh frying. Naturally, Draco started to scream in pain, and struggled against their hands, which were holding him down on the couch forcefully.

After what seemed like ages, his cries started to decrease, until they were finally over. Draco lay there, his chest rising and falling rapidly under his laboured breathing. His eyes were blank from the pain, his hands and feet still shook from the shock. Hermione placed a hand on his forehead. Draco wasn't hot anymore, on the contrary, he seemed as cold as ice, while big drops of sweat dripped down his temples. She inhaled deeply and looked down at the wound. It was the same wound as before, except for the fact that it now looked like it has been washed with some kind of acid: there was no more blood, and it didn't seem like the skin would ever bleed again. The edges of the wound were now the colour of fresh flesh, no more green or blue.

"Did it work?" asked Harry, looking at the cut as well.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. We'll have to wait until tomorrow to see the full effects."

Draco's eyes opened suddenly. "You don't know?" he cried. "You don't know? You've burnt me alive for what?"

"Since you don't know which poison they used, and there's a vast range of venoms that could make your wound turn the colour of putrescent flesh, make your temperature rise, and eventually cause you a slow and painful death, I don't know if it worked," she said practically. "If tomorrow it's green again, it didn't work. If it's healed, then it worked."

"I really needed you to know that," Draco muttered.

"I'll take that as a thank you," said Hermione, standing up and stretching her legs.

"Don't, it isn't."

"You know, Malfoy, if Hermione wasn't here, you would still be outside, dying of blood loss or maybe from the cold," Harry said, circling the couch and glaring at Draco from the edge of the divan.

"I didn't ask her for help," he snapped.

"Mental note for me, never save Malfoy's life again," said Hermione, sitting on the coffee table and looking at Harry with a grin.

"And I'll remind you, if you forget," Harry volunteered. He looked back at Draco and sighed. "What now? Do we leave him on the couch? Maybe he should rest a bit."

"Yeah, I think he should, but he's all sweaty, so maybe he should take a shower first," she said thoughtfully.

"Do you think that he'll be able to take a shower by himself?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, you should help him, Harry."

Harry was horrified.

"It's not necessary that he be completely naked, you can just wash his torso with a wet towel. But the water must be warm," Hermione said slowly.

"Stop talking like I'm not here. I'm lying right in front of you and I'm not going to take a shower with Potty," Draco growled.

"You better take a shower. Even if the poison has been destroyed by the potion, you're still close to being in shock," she said calmly. "You are as cold as ice and you are all sweaty."

"I don't need a shower. And I don't need Potty to help me," Draco insisted.

"And you stink," added Harry patiently. "So if you want to sleep in this house you better do as you are told."

"Make me," he hissed again.

Harry looked at Hermione, who glanced back at him and shrugged. Harry pulled out his wand from his pocket and waved it. "Mobili Corpus," he said, and Draco started to levitate.

"Potter, let me down," cried Draco.

"I'll let you down in the shower, Malfoy. Now stop struggling," Harry persisted as he started to climb the stairs, Hermione following behind. They stopped in front of the bathroom's door which Hermione opened for them. Harry slowly let Draco down, and Hermione helped him to stand inside the small shower next to the window. She passed an arm behind his back, and placed her left hand on his chest while Draco leaned almost all his weight on her right shoulder. His skin was still cold as ice.

The tiles of the bathroom were white, but they weren't as white as Draco's skin, which stood out like whipped cream on vanilla ice cream. Now that he stood there half-naked and dazed from Hermione's potion, he didn't seem so ready to snap at them anymore.

"Should we make him sit?" asked Harry, nodding towards the stool.

"I think that will hurt him more than standing," pointed out Hermione. "It's better if one of us helps him stand and the other washes him."

"Do you think that you can hold him so long?"

"He's not very heavy, but I don't think I can," she said. "Maybe, Ron--"

"If you ask him yourself," Harry cut her off.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He just has to hold him."

"Go and ask him."

Hermione placed Draco into Harry's arms and walked out of the bathroom. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door at her right.

"The door is open," said Ron from the other side.

Hermione opened the door and entered. Ron lay on the bed, his arms under his head, he was staring at the ceiling with a mixture of annoyance and frustration.

"Ron?" Hermione called hesitantly.

"What?" he asked flatly.

"Can you help us?"

"With what?" he asked again, without tearing his eyes away from the ceiling.

"With Malfoy, we need to clean him up, but he can't stand on his feet by himself. Can you hold him while Harry washes him?" she asked.

Ron turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. "Fine," he said, as if his mother had just asked him to take the rubbish out, unwanted but inevitable. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and landed on the floor. He passed by Hermione without even looking at her, and entered into the bathroom.

"I'll prepare something for dinner, in the meantime," Hermione offered, leaning against the door of the bathroom. "Would you like something in particular?" she asked, trying to sound cheerful.

Ron shook his head. "I'm not hungry," he said curtly, taking Draco from Harry and holding him at arms-length.

Both Harry and Hermione looked at him in surprise. It was the first time that Ron wasn't hungry when there wasn't a Quidditch match that awaited him.

"I won't cook French fries," said Hermione, trying to smile.

"I'm not hungry," Ron repeated, his eyes empty as he glared at her.

Harry sighed deeply. "Can you cook the steaks we bought?" he asked Hermione.

She nodded. "Yes, and I think that they'll be better than the French fries," she said. "Just two steaks, then?"

"What about Malfoy?" asked Harry, wetting a towel under the water of the basin.

"I don't think that he could eat anything right now." She looked at him, he seemed to be under the effect of some potent drug: his eyes were half open, he was leaning heavily against Ron, and he was murmuring something under his breath. "Clean him up and then let him lie down. He just needs to rest now."

Harry nodded as Hermione walked out and closed the door behind her. He turned towards Ron, who was staring blankly in front of him, and started to wash Draco's chest. He wasn't dirty, except for some mud that was clinging to his skin from when he fainted, but he was - Hermione was right - as cold as ice, and all sweaty. They should have to wrap him in several blankets that night, if they didn't want him to die from the cold. Harry glanced at Ron as he was holding Draco. Ron looked almost like he was holding a dummy. Harry thought that it was because Draco seemed so thin. For a moment he felt terribly sorry for him without knowing why, but then, he remembered who he was looking at, and shook his head vehemently, as if for clarifying his ideas. Why am I helping him? he wondered. Just because, he has probably spent the last month with Snape and the Death Eaters, and we need to know as much as possible about them, he concluded, feeling satisfied with himself. It didn't matter the fact that he had almost killed him back at school. He didn't feel guilty anymore. Really.

Harry removed the shirt from Draco's shoulders and caught it before it actually touched the floor. He looked at it for a long moment before turning towards Draco. "Malfoy, your shirt isn't ripped," he said thoughtfully. "When did you put it on?"

Draco moved his head, and murmured something, but neither Harry nor Ron was able to understand what he was saying. Hermione's potion seemed to work as a sleeping draught as well, and Harry while he was grateful to her for that, he would have liked to have more information before Draco fell into a dreamless sleep.

"Malfoy!" Harry called louder. But all Draco did was lean more heavily on Ron, who started to shake him vigorously.

"Wake up, ferret," said Ron curtly. Draco just moaned and almost slipped on the cold floor of the bathroom. If Harry hadn't caught him, he would have surely banged his head against the wall.

"Hermione prepared a potion to save his life, can you please not kill him, Ron?" Harry grinned.

Ron looked at him and snorted. "Would it be so bad? No, wait, don't answer me."

At that moment Hermione knocked on the door. "Is he dressed?" she asked awkwardly from the landing.

"Yes, if you call someone in underwear dressed," Harry answered.

She opened the door slowly and looked at them all. "Is he sleeping yet?" she hesitated.

"I thought it was your potion making him so drowsy," Harry observed.

"It is, but he drank so little that I thought that it would have taken him hours before falling asleep. He must be very weak too," she said. "Have you finished?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, he's still cold as ice, but he's not so sweaty anymore."

"Okay," she said, as she bit her bottom lip. "I was thinking something."

"Something like?" asked Harry, looking intently at her.

"Something like, what if he doesn't feel well during the night? This night or the next? We should be in a place where we can hear if he's okay or not," she said slowly.

"Do you mean that we should take shifts for watching over him?" asked Harry.

Hermione nodded. "That and then I thought that he could have had my room."

"What?" asked Ron, looking at her bewildered. "Your room? Why?"

Hermione was turning a lovely shade of red, without even knowing why. "To keep an eye on him, I mean, what if he doesn't feel well and we can't hear him, because he's downstairs?"

"And you would sleep with him, right?" asked Ron coolly.

"Of course not," answered Hermione through gritted teeth. "I would sleep on the couch."

Ron shook his head. "You are crazy, Hermione."

"I was just thinking that--"

"He's right," said Harry. "Malfoy will be fine on the couch."

"But the couch is so small, what if he turns over and falls?" asked Hermione anxiously.

"The worst that will happen to him will be that he'll bang his head on the floor, not so bad since it's empty," said Harry.

"He needs to rest in a peaceful place, we spend all our time in the living room. Where would we sit during the day?"

"What about the kitchen?" asked Harry as if he was talking to a five-year-old girl.

"I just mean, we want to leave in a week, don't we? It won't be too bad for me to sleep on the couch for a few days, but what about him? If he doesn't regain his strength in seven days, what do we do? Leave him here?" she asked.

"Yes," Ron replied promptly.

"No," Hermione declared. "Come on, bring him in my bedroom and put him on my bed."

Ron looked at her with a frustrated expression suddenly let go of Draco, who nearly slipped out of Harry's arms. He took a step towards Hermione, and towering over her, he glared down at her face. "You bring him into your bedroom," he hissed, and walked out of the bathroom.

Hermione stood there. Her fists closed at her sides, and her bottom lip pressed between her teeth. "Harry, can you..."

Harry nodded, and, walking slowly, he guided a sleeping Draco to Hermione's bedroom. "In your sheets?" asked Harry, looking down at the pure white sheets. Hermione nodded, pulling away the sheets. Harry lowered the sleeping Draco to the bed.

"You washed him, right?" Hermione asked as an afterthought.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Hermione, are you sure--"

"Yes, Harry," she cut him off. "I just want to see how he'll react to my cures. I mean, naturally I don't want him to die, but I'm also doing this for me, I want to see if I'm able to take care of someone who is so badly injured."

Harry nodded. "Okay, but remember who he is," he said, looking from her to Draco's peaceful face. He seemed almost an angel while he slept. Almost.

Hermione covered Draco to his chin with some heavy blankets and stared at him as well. "I will," she whispered. "Do you think that you can borrow him some of your clothes?"

"I think that we can give him some of my father's clothes, what do you think?"

"If it's okay with you."

"It is, I've not brought much with me, and the wardrobes are full of clothes. We can find something for him tomorrow," he said calmly.

Hermione nodded and then slapped her forehead as if she had just remembered something. "Harry! The steaks! I had come upstairs to tell you that they were ready, but I forgot. Oh my..."

Harry rubbed his forehead and shrugged. "Okay, well, we can always reheat them, can't we?"

"I guess so," she said, glancing one last time at Draco's sleeping figure. She heard the door close behind her as Harry joined her on the landing before they climbed down the stairs together.

The steaks were cold, but Harry was right. Once reheated they tasted quite good. They sat down at the table, Hermione at one end and Harry at the other, and started to eat in an unnatural silence, their ears tense from the effort of listening any for sounds from upstairs. Everything seemed peaceful and, after a few minutes, they relaxed a little.

"You know, it feels terribly like a déjà-vu to me," said Harry suddenly as he sipped from his glass.

Hermione raised her eyes on him. "What? Saving Malfoy's life?" she asked, smiling. "I can't remember that--"

"No," Harry cut her off gently. "This. You and me at this table," he said, gesturing from himself to her. "It's like we have already done this."

Hermione looked at him without understanding. "Yes, we have. Yesterday evening for dinner and today at lunch."

Harry shook his head. "No, I meant..." He looked at her thoughtfully. "I don't know what I meant. It looked just familiar. You and I and something to eat."

"Well, we've eaten together other times, Harry, it's just that usually there's Ron, too," she said, sighing.

Harry nodded. "I know. But I think that tomorrow he'll be down and cheerful as always. At least because he'll want some breakfast," he said, grinning.

"Yeah, very sweet of him," answered Hermione, sighing again. "I don't think that he'll forgive me so easily, though. Remember in our third year? He didn't speak to me for months because he thought that Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers. What about now? This whole thing is much more serious."

"You've just saved someone's life, he shouldn't be angry with you in the first place," Harry pointed out.

"The only problem is that this someone is Malfoy." She stopped for a moment. "And I still don't know if I've saved his life," she mumbled.

"Well, he did try to kill you, you could have just let him die out there," Harry replied bitterly.

"Oh, yes, about that, Harry," she said awkwardly, "I don't think that he was going to kill me."

"No, of course not. He just threatened to use the Killing Curse on you, what do you call that?" asked Harry sharply.

Hermione sighed, she stood up and collected the plates from the table. She placed them in the kitchen sink, and started to do the washing-up. Harry stood up as well and passed her the glasses and the cutlery. He leaned against the cupboard and crossed his arms on his chest, and he looked at her profile. In the light of the kitchen lamp her hair seemed a vague shade of copper and crimson, instead of her usual dark brown. "Why do you think that he wasn't going to kill you?"

Hermione shrugged. "Because if he hadn't been able to kill Dumbledore, he certainly wasn't going to kill me."

"We don't know where he's been in the last month, Hermione. Maybe he has changed. How do we know that it isn't just this that he wants. Maybe he has a plan: he comes here, enters this house and when we let our guard drop, he'll kill you and Ron and hand me over to Voldemort," Harry added gravely.

Hermione stopped washing the plates. She had her arms sunk into the water and foam up to her elbows. The back of her jumper was now covered with a layer of dried blood that was slowly becoming the colour of petroleum. She looked in front of her, out the window and into the darkness of the night. "We don't know," she said, her tone seemed almost resigned. "We don't know if he'll kill us. But I couldn't let him die."

"No," said Harry calmly. "Me either."

She nodded, picked up a plate and rinsed it under the water and placed it on the drain shelf next to the sink. She went on until the last glass was shining. "I can stay with Malfoy tonight," she said suddenly, looking at Harry. "I mean, I can watch over him for tonight. And you can stay with him tomorrow."

Harry looked at her and raised his eyebrows. "I don't like the idea of you alone with Malfoy, I'll agree with Ron about that, but better with him now that he's knocked out, rather than tomorrow when he's awake."

Hermione chuckled and nodded. "I'll bring one of the armchairs upstairs."

"I'll bring it for you," offered Harry, and he disappeared into the living room. Minutes later, Hermione heard his steps on the stairs, slow and deliberate, as if he was paying attention not to knock the armchair into the railing.

She joined him in the bedroom moments later, when she was satisfied with the cleanliness of kitchen. Harry was standing there, next to Draco, making sure that he was deeply asleep. Luckily, he was. Hermione collapsed on the armchair, which Harry had thoughtfully placed between the door and the bed, in case Hermione had to run for her life, and picked up one of her books.

"Are you sure that you'll be all right?" Harry hesitated to leave her alone with the sleeping Malfoy.

Hermione nodded and patted the pocket of her jeans. "I won't let him catch me off of guard a second time."

"Scream if you need something."

"Don't worry, I won't hesitate," she said calmly.

"I can give you a break at midnight," he offered, still not reassured.

Hermione shook her head and her curls waved around her face. Even in the dim light of the bedside-table lamp her hair seemed redder than he remembered. He didn't know why he was so attracted to her locks at that moment, he simply knew that there was something different about them. Maybe it was the oil that had squirted on her hair at lunch, but he was pretty sure that she had run to the bathroom and washed it immediately.

"Do I have something in my hair?" asked Hermione, looking at him and tossing her hair.

"What?" asked Harry, suddenly snapped out of his thoughts.

"You were staring at my hair, is there something wrong?" she asked again.

"Seems more copper than usual."

"What?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing." He moved towards the door and opened it wide. "Good night. Sleep tight."

"You too," she said, smiling.

Harry nodded and walked to his room. He opened it and found Ron on the bed, he was still dressed and seemed to be waiting for Harry. He had an unreadable expression on his face, and when he spoke his voice was flat. "Is he sleeping?"

Harry nodded and walked towards the wardrobe. "Yes, and I think that nothing will wake him up tonight."

"And Hermione is downstairs?"

Harry looked at him awkwardly as if he didn't know what to answer, and what the consequences of his words might be. "No, she's with Malfoy," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

He expected Ron to scream, or shake his head in frustration, to tell him that he was crazy for letting her alone with him, or throw something at him. Harry wasn't prepared for Ron to burst into laughter. Loud and genuine, his laughter filled the room, causing Harry to stare at him in amazement.

"Is it funny?" he asked slowly.

Ron took a deep breath and tried to regain his composure before answering. "Oh yes. Yes. Very funny."

"And if I ask you why you'll burst out laughing again?"

Ron shook his head. "It's easy. First she tells us that she needs her own bedroom, she's a girl and all that rubbish. Now she's sleeping with Malfoy, only a couple of hours after he arrives."

"She's not sleeping with Malfoy," said Harry indignantly. "She's on the armchair, watching over him. She's interested in the effects of her potion."

"Sure, sure," said Ron sarcastically. "How could I've been so stupid? She's just interested in her potion."

"Ron, you are being silly about this whole thing. Malfoy can be useful, he could give us information about Voldemort and the Death Eaters."

"I think that all he wants is to put his filthy hands on Hermione and--"

"You can't be jealous of him!" Harry half screamed. He hadn't thought about that possibility. Not because Malfoy couldn't have been attracted to Hermione, but because he was too weak to try to do anything.

"--kill her," Ron finished, looking at Harry seriously. "As much as he wants to kill me."

"Why doesn't he want to kill me as well?" he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from Ron too; he didn't know why, though. Maybe he just wanted to hear it from someone to make it real.

"Because, You-Know-Who wants to kill you. I don't think that Malfoy would survive half an hour if he deprived the Dark Lord of the pleasure of killing the Boy-Who-Lived," Ron said with a smirk.

Harry nodded calmly. He understood, but still didn't think that Draco would have slain his best friends. No, not after he saw his face when Snape had killed Dumbledore. It had been a mask of fear and torment and sorrow. He would not kill them, he wouldn't be able.

Ron stood up from the bed and walked towards the closed door.

"Where are you going?" asked Harry, following him with his eyes.

Ron shrugged and opened the door. "Downstairs, to look for something to eat."

Harry grinned a little. "You can always finish the muffins."

"Already done." And the door closed behind him.

***

Hermione half opened her eyes as she felt the presence of someone next to her. She glanced at Draco and saw that he was still sleeping, snoring in a quiet and peaceful way. She raised her eyes to the dark figure at her left and before she could scream, a hand reached over her mouth and cut off her yell.