But Thy Eternal Summer Shall Not Fade

When he heard the handle being pushed down, Draco turned his head slowly towards the door. He winced slightly, as even that small movement caused him pain. He felt as if he had his head in a vice, which tightened with every passing minute. He silently hoped that the person entering into the bedroom was Hermione. Draco shoved that thought to the back of his head with disgust, but brought it up again as soon as he imagined himself complaining about his pain, and Hermione preparing something that would make him feel better. Maybe she would bring him some clothes, since he was still wearing only his underwear.

But to his enormous dismay, it wasn't Hermione who entered. It wasn't even Harry, whose presence he could have at least tolerated. It was Ron that stepped inside and looked at him with cold eyes, as this were the worst thing that could ever happen to him.

Draco covered his disappointment with a sneer as soon as Ron closed the door. He didn't feel safe staying in the same room with Ron, especially with the door closed and him lying there half knocked out by the fever.

"You don't seem happy to see me, Malfoy," said Ron, sitting down on the armchair where Hermione had lain the night before. "Would you have preferred that Hermione came in here?"

Draco's sneer became wider as he jumped at the chance to make Ron mad with jealousy, Then he imagined seeing Hermione's face as she told him to get out of there and never come back. It was very likely she would never come close to him again.

"Oh, yes," Draco said, half-closing his eyes. "I was wondering if she wanted to continue the discussion we were having under these sheets last night. I didn't know that she could use her tongue so well."

Ron's eyes darkened so much that the blue almost disappeared in a sea of crimson. He closed his fists on the armrests and gritted his teeth. But despite his body's reaction, when Ron spoke his voice was firm and strangely low and dangerous. "You know something, Malfoy? Harry and Hermione aren't here anymore," he hissed. "We are here alone. You and me. And it doesn't look like you are in a position to make those kind of jokes, are you?"

"What do you mean they're not here?" asked Draco. The sneer had completely faded from his face and for a moment he looked almost afraid.

"Exactly what I said. They have gone to the graveyard to look for the tombs of Harry's parents," Ron explained, his voice smooth as silk and venomous as the fang of a snake. "Hermione would have loved to stay here and watch over you, but I offered to take her place. I think she needs a walk outside." He looked at Draco intently. "And you don't need to stay next to her all the time."

Draco's eyes narrowed. He was there alone with Ron. All alone in that house, and he didn't like it one bit. It was almost like being in the den of some wild animal, and being confined to the bed because of his injuries didn't help. He knew that Ron was bad-tempered. A reasonable person would have turned his head to the other side of the bed, maybe even pretended that he was asleep, and would have waited until the door closed behind Ron before opening his eyes again and breathing. But Draco had never been a reasonable person, so he looked at Ron challengingly and said, "Jealous, are you?"

Draco was caught off guard by Ron's laughter. So clear and cold that it almost ached.

"Jealous of you, Malfoy? Not in a million years."

Draco was outraged. Did that mean that he wasn't handsome enough for someone to fall for him? "I don't think she's ever watched over you a whole night, has she?" he asked sourly.

"No, and she's never had the chance to experiment with her potions on me, either," retorted Ron coldly. "But you must be happy being her guinea pig."

"I'm no one's guinea pig," hissed Draco.

"Do you really think that she's helping you for your pretty face?" replied Ron. "That means that you don't understand a thing about her."

"Actually, Weasley, I don't want to understand anything about her. I don't give a damn about her."

Ron smirked, a smirk that Draco himself would have admired, if it hadn't been directed at him. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

"Do you have nothing better to ask me? I don't usually answer obvious questions," said Draco mischievously. He knew that he was pushing Ron to the edge, but couldn't restrain himself. It gave him an underhanded pleasure to tease him. Plus, Ron seemed to maintain his calm without as much difficulty as he would have expected.

"You were surprised when I entered that door. You were waiting for Hermione, weren't you?"

"Everybody would be shocked if he's waiting for a girl and instead you walk in, Weasel," growled Draco.

Ron laughed again, and Draco's hair stood up. He couldn't remember ever having listened to Ron's laughter from so close by, but he was pretty sure that it had never sounded so evil. And empty. It was empty, as if Ron himself was empty. Draco would have never admitted it, not even under torture, but he was scared of Ron at that moment.

"So, now Hermione is a girl. I thought she was just a filthy Mudblood," he said, stressing the last word with a strange pleasure.

"While she's helping me, she'll be a girl," said Draco, and he hoped that the heat that he felt on his cheeks was all due to the fever.

"So sweet," murmured Ron, narrowing his eyes and looking at Draco. Then he took out a long stick of wood from his pocket and showed it to him, turning it upside down and playing with it. Ron threw it in the air and let it fall to the ground.

Draco looked down at it and recognized it immediately. His wand.

"Where did you get that?" he asked sharply at Ron.

Ron didn't even look at him. He felt so self-confident that it was almost unnerving for Draco. "Where you left it. On the back lawn."

"Give it back, Weasel," snapped Draco, pulling a naked white arm out of the sheet and stretching his fingers towards Ron.

Ron sneered. "I'm not stupid, Malfoy. This wand will stay with me," he said.

"You can't keep it. It's mine." And to his immense surprise, Draco managed to sit up on the bed. The sheets fell from his chest and landed in his lap, while the gauze was suddenly dyed by a new flood of crimson.

"I can, and I will," said Ron, without being impressed by that reaction, especially since Draco had to lie back immediately.

"If you do this, Granger and Potter will make you pay," Draco said through gritted teeth.

"I'm so scared," Ron said mockingly, faking a shiver. "I'm sorry, Malfoy, but I've not seen you crying with Myrtle in the bathroom, and I'm not half trusty as Hermione is. And you wouldn't even be able to use it." Ron nodded towards his body; Draco was still shaking from the cold and the pain.

Ron stood up and pocketed the wand, while Draco's eyes followed every movement of his long fingers. He patted his jeans and smirked, and with a last glance at Draco, he walked out of the bedroom and closed the door.

Draco heard the lock catch, and Ron's steps faded away while he lay back and tried to catch his breath after the effort of sitting up. There was something strange in Ron, and he really hoped that it wasn't what he thought.

***

Harry seemed to be the first to understand that there was something strange in the hand pressed on his shoulder. It was as cold as ice. He blinked a couple of times and struggled under the grip, but to his relief, the hand didn't even try to keep him still. He took a couple of quick steps forward and then turned.

Hermione was still there. Her green eyes fixed in front of her were unfocused and--. Green? Harry shook his head and closed his eyes, rubbing them delicately like a child. When his eyelids rose again and he looked at her, he saw the chocolaty eyes that he knew so well. He looked up at the man that now had both his hands on her shoulders and, without even thinking about what he was doing, he seized Hermione's arm and pulled her with force towards himself. Harry was sure that she would have a bruise that afternoon, or maybe the day after, where he had gripped her, but better a bruise than - he didn't know what, and wasn't so eager to find out.

Hermione blinked as well, when she found herself in Harry's arms. She could feel his warm body pressed tightly against her own, as if he was desperately trying to restrain her from leaving. She turned her head towards the man Harry was looking at, and her mouth opened slightly in a surprised and noiseless 'o'.

"Who are you?" Harry's voice seemed miles away when he spoke. Maybe it was the wind that stole his words so quickly that Hermione didn't even have the time to register them.

The man that stood there, wrapped in a heavy coat, was old. So old that they couldn't tell his age. His face was hidden under tons of wrinkles, and his thick hair was the colour of snow. Not someone that they would normally think was a dangerous person, if it wasn't for the fact that it was the second time they had met him. The first time he looked only like a harmless neighbour, now he seemed like a crazy old man, and they were afraid.

"Who are you?" repeated Harry harshly. His arm moved slightly towards his pocket, but he restrained the will to pull out his wand. If the man were only an eccentric Muggle, what would he think?

The old man smiled, and there was no malice in his face. He took a step towards them, and Harry took a step backwards, dragging Hermione with him. But the man didn't halt; he simply passed them by and stopped in front of the tombs of Harry's parents.

"As I was saying," the man murmured. "It's just like looking at your own graves, isn't it?"

Harry bit his bottom lip, not too keen on making any kind of conversation with the man. But Hermione freed herself from his grip and, taking a step towards him, she whispered, "Yes." And in that word Harry could feel a deep and tremendous pain.

The man smiled again, but Hermione and Harry couldn't see it. "Does it hurt?" he asked suddenly, and his voice didn't hide his concern, as if he had just turned around quickly and slapped a little boy across the face without noticing. Now the man was asking how the child was, not because he cared, but because he needed to know to his conscience.

Hermione frowned. Did it hurt? She didn't know. She didn't understand what he was asking. Maybe if she concentrated on the graves, and imagined that one of them was hers... But did she really have to imagine? No. And yes, it hurt. But not in the way she would have expected. It filled her with a sorrow that went beyond words; she felt her heart aching; but not the way you felt when you lose someone. Rather the way someone who's dead might feel, knowing that she had left behind so many people that loved her. She could feel the grief of their mourning filling her. And she was sure that if she went on any longer, that sorrowfulness would take away her breath.

"So it hurts," said the man, as if he had just read her mind. He let out a soft snort of laughter, before returning his attention to the graves. "Of course it does. I should have thought about that. But I would have never imagined that it would have happened this way," he murmured, talking to himself.

Hermione and Harry exchanged a look, and Harry took a step forward, standing next to her. His fear of that man with icy hands had completely gone, and now he couldn't help feeling a bit guilty and sympathetic towards him. "Who are you?" he asked for the third time, but this time he said it slowly and without a trace of harshness.

The man turned and looked at him. "Who am I," he murmured. "Does it really matter? - My name is famous, but I am no more." He glanced at Hermione. "But maybe you want to know what blood runs in my veins. The same blood that was once shed in this place, by someone that I called brother."

"I-I think we don't--"

"Understand," he finished for Harry. "No, how could you? This story has never been told. Nobody knows. But now that the curse is happening, maybe you should know."

The man looked at Harry and Hermione with tired eyes, as if the thought of telling them something about his past was enough to make him sick. For a minute the man looked as though he was a thousand years old, ancient and terrible. Someone that should be feared and loved and respected.

"Oh, but you shall know. When the moment comes, you shall know." He turned and, without a further word, started to walk up a small hill.

"Hey, wait!" Harry called after him. He was afraid of him, but he didn't like to be left in the middle of what could have turned out to be an explanation. "What curse are you talking about? Who are you?"

The man didn't turn, nor he did give any sign that he heard Harry. He simply kept on walking, disappearing from their view when he stepped behind a tree. They waited for him to walk out on the other side of the trunk, but he didn't. Harry and Hermione stared blankly in front of them, as if something had escaped them. Some secret that they couldn't understand. Some magic which was higher and more powerful than anything they had ever seen or performed.

When a gust of wind blew their coats and hit their faces, Harry and Hermione woke from the state of trance they had fallen in while following the man with their eyes. But as soon as they regained some lucidity, without any apparent reason, their minds blurred again. Hermione searched for Harry's hand, and when she found it, she laced her fingers in his. His hand was warm, while hers was cold and in need of someone to heat it up. Harry jumped from coldness, but when he turned to her, he pulled her close, and embraced her as if there was no tomorrow.

Hermione rested her head on Harry's shoulder, and when he felt her sighing against his ear, it sent him a little shiver down his spine. He rubbed her cheek with his own, and she placed her arms around his neck. The wind stopped all of a sudden, and for a moment the world seemed to disappear around them. No sound reached their ears, except for each other's heartbeat and breath.

Harry didn't know why, nor did he stop to ask himself if what he was doing was right or wrong. It seemed so natural, like breathing air or drinking water. He didn't have the chance to question himself. And he was sure that Hermione was feeling the same way, otherwise she would have already pushed him away and her face would have turned a lovely shade of red.

Harry cocked his head and buried his nose in her hair. She smelled good. Her skin was perfumed, a delicate and lovely smell of flowers, and it was extremely familiar. As if he had already passed years buried in her scent, as if she had already been so close to him that every inch of her body was pressed against his own. As if this was not the first time.

Harry kissed her. He kissed her precisely under her right ear. He kissed her like he had done it a million times, because he knew perfectly well where to press his lips to make Hermione shiver. And she did shiver. He felt her relax under his arms and a name escape her lips, but he didn't catch it, he was too busy nibbling her flawless skin.

And then the wind started to blow again, and the world reappeared around them. They found themselves in each other's arms, without remembering why. Harry had still his lips pressed on Hermione's neck, and she had still her arms behind his head, but now their muscles were tense, as if, they had suddenly found themselves in a very awkward situation.

"Harry?" called Hermione in whisper, her voice hoarse in embarrassment. As her arms started to slide slowly down his shoulders, she tipped her head and Harry moved away from her. They stood there for what seemed like ages, one in front of the other, without looking into each other's eyes, but feeling the heat that radiated from the deep blush that coloured both their faces.

Eventually, Harry raised his eyes to her. "Hermione, what--"

"I don't know," she cut him off, urgency and embarrassment in her voice. "I don't know. It was just like, it wasn't me, and-" She raised her eyes as well, and locked them on Harry. For a moment she felt the urge to look away, but she fought it. "-you weren't you."

Harry nodded. "Same thing," he confirmed. "It was like I've already done that a million times. But we never..." His sentence trailed away while he blushed even more deeply.

"No, we never. I mean, we never did anything more than..." She looked at him desperately, and for a moment it looked like she was going to confess him something highly embarrassing. Like that she had drugged him and compelled to kiss her the night before. But Hermione just swallowed her words.

"Okay," said Harry understandingly. "What - what about having a look at the graves and then going back to the cottage? Ron will be asking where we are."

Hermione nodded and bit her bottom lip. They turned towards the tombs, and took a couple of steps forward, before finding themselves mere inches away from the gravestones. The grass was a bright green colour and it seemed soft when Harry kneeled down next to the graves. He stretched out an arm to touch the white marble, without brushing it.

Hermione would have stepped back and let him alone, but she didn't want to stray far from him, didn't want to leave him. She was attracted to Harry, not in a sexual way but out of some kind of need for him. She let her eyes move from Harry to the stones. There were no epitaphs or pictures. No 'Beloved husband' and 'Loved wife,' just James and Lily's names and the date of that fateful night.

Harry stood up and brushed the earth away from his jeans. He turned towards Hermione with a strange calm in his eyes. She thought that after all this time without his parents, he must have been beyond the point where he could have shed tears over their graves.

"Shall we go?" he asked her softly.

Hermione nodded. They walked up the hill that would have led them out of the small glen, and back to the church of Godric's Hollow. They walked side by side, without touching each other, even if that was what they both wanted most at that moment. Hermione tried to convince herself that it was because she was freezing that she wanted to touch Harry's hand, but she wasn't so sure it was just the cold.

"Wait," said Harry suddenly, stopping in his tracks.

"What?"

"Let's go this way," he said, nodding towards the tree behind which the old man had disappeared.

"This way doesn't lead us out of the cemetery," pointed out Hermione.

"How do you know?" asked Harry, as he started to walk away from her.

"Because there's only one way out of here and--"

"That man disappeared behind that tree," said Harry stubbornly. All his awkward feelings were forgotten, as he tried to reason with his friend.

"In fact," said Hermione, and Harry heard her steps behind him. "He disappeared, he didn't just walk out of here."

"You think that he Disapparated?" asked Harry as they approached the oak tree.

Hermione shrugged as she slowed down next to him. "I don't know, but I don't think he was a Muggle. I mean, he talked about a curse."

"Yeah, well, I think it's a travesty to have to stay with my aunt and uncle as well, but that doesn't mean that I'm cursed." Harry pointed out.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Okay, whatever."

They stopped as they saw a stone sticking out of the ground under the tree. It didn't seem like a gravestone: it was too oddly shaped and ancient looking. It looked more like one of those stones placed on the ground ages ago for some reason unknown to the scholars of the present. But as they bent down, inexplicably attracted to the stone before them, Harry and Hermione saw that something was carved on the rock. To their great disappointment, it was unreadable. The leaves that had fallen over the years had turned the stone a yellowish colour, and the black the must have once been the letters of the name had completely worn off.

Hermione seized Harry's sleeve and pointed towards a sign next to the trunk of the oak. Harry walked towards it; it was new, and looked almost like one of those signs in a museum, which gave information about the objects being exhibited.

The most ancient tomb of this cemetery, it read. This tomb has been dated from 900 to 1200 years ago. Unfortunately the name of the owner of this grave is unreadable, and there is no reliable information about him. It is thought to belong to someone that was passing by this place, very likely in a time of war , because the village of Godric's Hollow was built only seven hundreds years ago . Before that time this valley was completely deserted.

Harry turned towards Hermione. "Do you think that it could be-" He looked around to be sure that they weren't overheard. He wasn't exactly sure why, but it didn't seem like a good idea if they were heard knowing something about one of the tourist attractions of Godric's Hollow, or better yet, the only tourist attraction. "-Gryffindor's grave?" Harry finished, lowering his voice.

Hermione took a deep breath before answering. "The date could fit, I mean Hogwarts was built a thousand years ago, and we don't know where he died, but it's so far away from Hogsmeade. What would he have been doing here?"

"He was passing by?" asked Harry, nodding towards the sign.

"Thanks a lot, Harry. I meant why?"

"How should I know? Hermione, if you don't know it yourself, I don't really know what to say. I mean, you are the one that read 'Hogwarts: A History' at least five times, haven't you?"

"It was six," she pointed out. "But the story talks about Hogwarts, not the Founders." Harry gave her a peculiar look, and Hermione sighed. "I mean, it talks about the Founders, but not about their private lives. It just says who they were and what their beliefs were, the Sorting Hat gives a pretty nice summary of that. But nothing more."

"And you read it six times?" asked Harry impressed. "It must be so boring."

"It's not, especially if you had lived all your life with Muggles and wanted to know everything about the new world that awaited you," she answered.

"I've spent all my life with Muggles and I don't-"

Hermione placed a hand on his arm. "Harry, I got it," she said gently. "You would never read it, not even if someone compelled you, right?"

Harry smiled. "Right."

Hermione shrugged lightly. "Didn't we have to get back? I'm afraid of what Ron might have done to Malfoy."

Harry looked at her uneasily. "Yeah, and about Ron--"

"Don't tell him what happened before," Hermione cut him off, saving Harry the trouble and blushing furiously. "He wouldn't understand."

"No, you're right," agreed Harry. And it was true, because they didn't understand it themselves. How could Ron, who had the emotional range of a teaspoon, understand it?

The wind started to blow harder than before, as if it was pressuring them to leave, to return home. And Harry and Hermione didn't want to do anything other than that. They turned on their heels and walked back on the small path that led out of the cemetery.

They climbed a low hill and then the church became immediately visible, a little stone building with a small bell tower. Hermione admired that building for the second time as they passed by it. She would have loved to have a look at its inside, but they didn't have time. Maybe when everything was over, and if they survived, she could explore the village.

They walked past the church on a cobblestone path, and reached the supermarket. It hadn't been really difficult find the way to the cemetery that morning. They had walked to the shopping centre, looking for someone to ask directions, and they had found a sign that didn't indicate the church, but the cemetery itself. Apparently the most ancient tomb was rather more important than the building, even if it was less attractive.

They reached the main street, and in a sunny, but cold afternoon, they walked back to the cottage.

***

Ron observed the chessboard intently. He was too good at that game, and his match against himself has been going on for a couple of hours now, and not one of the two colours had won yet. He was too proud for to think about making one of the two colours win over the other.

He raised his eyes from the chessboard, as soon as the front door opened and Harry and Hermione walked, shivering, into the house.

Ron looked at them coldly. "Found what you were looking for?" he asked, and from his tone it seemed like he really didn't care.

Harry sat down on the armchair across from Ron, rubbing his hands to heat them up. "Yes, found far more than what we were looking for actually," said Harry. "It's freezing cold out there."

"Really?" asked Ron, looking back at the chessboard.

Hermione joined them in the living room, she was shivering and her fingertips were blue. She looked at Ron, but he didn't even glance at her. "How is Malfoy?"

"Good morning to you too, Hermione. And I'm fine, thank you," said Ron venomously.

Hermione brought her hands to her hips, and narrowed her eyes. "You are not poisoned, and we have already seen each other this morning," she snapped.

"He's fine. I think," said Ron calmly. "I saw him just once, this morning. I think that you should burn your sheets when come back to your right mind and want to sleep in a bed again."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that tomorrow we'll probably be having a funeral," he said slowly, moving the black Queen near the white King. "Or a party, if you prefer."

Hermione frowned slightly, then she turned and climbed up the stairs two at a time.

Ron followed her movements out of the corner of his eyes. He seemed like a snake observing a bird that was looking for worms in the ground. A snake that enjoyed seeing how completely unaware of danger his prey was.

"What did you do?" Harry's question arrived so unexpectedly that Ron had to look at him for a long moment before understanding he was supposed to answer.

He shrugged. "A little of this, a little of that. I played chess."

"I thought you would have watched over Malfoy," said Harry, taking off his coat and placing it on the armchair behind him.

"I did. I went to Hermione's room this morning and he was fine. Almost near death, so he was fine," said Ron, laughing.

Harry frowned; there was something different in his friend. As if he wasn't the Ron he used to know, but someone else who looked like him and spoke like him, but seemed much more treacherous than him. He knew that Ron didn't like Malfoy, but... Hell, I don't like Malfoy either, but I wouldn't be cheering if he's going to die in front of our eyes, thought Harry heatedly.

"Ron, is everything alright?" he asked tentatively.

His friend smirked, a nasty little smirk that Harry didn't like. "Sure, Harry. Never been better, I feel so powerful," Ron said, with a strange light in his eyes. "It's like I'm changing, I'm becoming potent."

"Maybe it's the muffins," said Harry, grinning.

Ron shot him a glare. "Yeah, maybe," he said slowly. He looked down, and the black Queen ate the white Tower. "Checkmate," he murmured. "The Dark always wins."

"The black," corrected Harry.

"No, the Dark." Ron waved his wand and the pieces of chess returned to their original places. He looked at Harry and stood up from the couch, towering over him. "I've already eaten, but I didn't know what you wanted, so it's better if you prepare something for yourself."

Harry nodded, and stood up too, but even on his feet he was still several inches shorter than Ron. "I think I'll have a look at Malfoy, first."

"Naturally," hissed Ron. "Because everybody is so in love with him."

"I just want to be sure he's not dead, yet," said Harry firmly. "What's wrong with you?"

"Should there be something wrong with me? Just because I don't go crazy at the idea of Malfoy being here under the same roof with us, I'm a nasty evil boy, right?"

"No," rebated Harry. "But you seem to enjoy it a bit too much when you talk about him dying."

Ron didn't answer. He sneered evilly and walked out of the living room, Harry heard the back door opening and then banging closed. He stood there for a while wondering what had just happened. He couldn't believe that he had just criticized Ron for the way he treated Draco. It was crazy. If someone had told him he would have this conversation a year ago, he would have laughed until his stomach would have started to hurt.

Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts, and then started to climb up the stairs that led to the second floor. He headed for the first bedroom to his left and walked in, the door was half open and Hermione's shadow was visible on the floor.

She was standing next to Draco's bed, bent over him, working her hands frantically on his midsection. A pile of gauze dirty with blood lay at the foot of the bed.

"Is he alright?" Harry asked from the door, not so keen to get closer to the figure on the bed.

"As alright as someone who has been sliced in two could be, Potter," Draco hissed.

Harry didn't like his tone, but since Draco could still speak, there wasn't too much to worry about. "Too bad whoever sliced you in twice wasn't more accurate," Harry hissed back. "Your vital organs are just a little bit higher."

"Next time I'll wear a sign, then," Draco retorted.

"Oh stop it! Both of you," said Hermione, cutting off their fight. "And Malfoy, stay still."

"Your hands are icy, Granger, how am I supposed to stay still if I can't bear your touch?" snapped Draco.

"You are boiling with fever, that's why you think I'm cold," Hermione snapped, pouring disinfectant on the wound.

Draco glared at her, and with a slow movement, he brought his arms down and seized her right wrist lightly. Hermione raised her eyes to him, but he didn't look directly at her. Following the movement of her hand, he brought it up to his chest, without touching his skin, and then pressed it on his forehead. He closed his eyes, and smiled softly.

Hermione looked at him, clearly bemused by his actions. She stopped cleaning Draco's wound and steadied herself on the bed with her other hand. She bit her bottom lip, as a wave of heat spread from her hand to her arm and finally up to her face.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Harry looked horrified at the scene before him.

"Just heating her up, and cooling me," Draco answered simply. "If her icy hands have to touch me, at least they should touch me where I like it."

"Your forehead?" asked Hermione, raising her eyebrows.

"When you have a fever, what gives you relief? Something cool on your forehead," Draco asked, and answered himself.

Hermione withdrew her arm and sighed. "Right, I'll collect a wet towel for you. And then, I think I should try some other potion on you."

Draco looked at her and all of a sudden he felt like a guinea pig, something he didn't want to be. "Something that is going to work, Granger," he hissed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, something that's gonna work, don't worry, Malfoy. Because I'm going to prepare a Blood-Replenishing Potion."

"That won't work against poison," retorted Draco.

"I know," she said calmly, "but you need blood, although the poison may not be the first thing that will kill you."

Draco looked at her, trying to understand if she was serious or not, but her face was unreadable and she seemed terribly firm about what she was saying. Rebellious curls were framing her features, and her eyes seemed almost sparkling in contrast to her pale skin. Hermione seemed distressed and terribly tired, and for a moment he felt like he should tell her something nice. Just to let her know that he was grateful she was taking such good care of him. But he restrained himself; he couldn't have permitted a moment of weakness that would have ruined his reputation of spoiled little brat that had taken his whole life to build.

"Remember to brew some potion for the poison, this pain is driving me crazy," said Draco.

"Really? Now you know how it feels," Harry interjected from the door.

"What? Being poisoned and having a wound that cuts across your stomach? I would have preferred not to try it," hissed Draco.

"Not that, Malfoy. The fact that something is driving you crazy. Just like you are doing with us," said Harry, smirking.

"Bad news for you, Potty, you are no fun," snapped Draco. He looked back at Hermione, who sat on the bed next to him and looked in front of her in a thoughtful way. "You know what I was thinking?"

"What? You can think?" asked Hermione amused.

"Oh my, I'm surrounded by people with terrible sense of humour," said Draco mockingly. "Wasn't the poison enough?"

"Cut it short, Malfoy, what were you thinking?" asked Harry, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms on his chest.

"That I'm still half naked after being here almost an entire day," he said.

"Really? Well, I'm sorry, but we didn't find your luggage downstairs, where did you put it?" asked Harry sarcastically.

"I had clothes when I arrived here," Draco snapped angrily.

"They were covered with blood, you are not going to wear them between my sheets," said Hermione firmly.

"Gosh, Granger, I thought you were more intelligent than that, why didn't you wash them?" asked Draco. Then he smirked. "By the way, it's a bit too late to worry about your sheets." He winced in pain as he moved his hips, and showed her the sheets soaked with blood under his body.

Hermione made a face and paled. "Those were my favourite sheets, and I'm not your house-elf, Malfoy," she yelled. "And wasn't your shirt all ripped from the cut on your stomach, I mean--"

"No," Harry cut her off. "No, his shirt wasn't ripped." And as if he just remembered something that he should have asked ages before, he stepped towards the bed. "When did you put that shirt on, Malfoy?" he asked.

Draco looked at him without understanding, his flushed cheeks should have been a darker shade of red from the fever, but since almost all his blood was in the gauze at the end of the bed, his skin couldn't have turned anything more than a light pink. "What do you mean?" he asked uneasily.

Harry shot him a peculiar look. "I mean that your shirt was soaked with blood, but it wasn't ripped."

"I don't go around with ripped shirts, it's so not in style," said Draco, pretending not to understand.

"Don't be clever with us, Malfoy," said Hermione. "That means only one thing, that you put that shirt on after you have been wounded. So, when exactly did that happen?"

"Yes, and since you have not yet told us anything about the way you obtained your wound, we would be delighted to listen to you. Right about now, I would say," said Harry firmly.

"I don't remember, Potter," snapped Draco, as the anger revived him. "I don't know. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"No, I want to hear what happened. I think it's very suspect that you keep on saying that you don't remember, don't you think?" asked Harry, narrowing his eyes.

"Never heard about Memory charms?" retorted Draco.

Harry pulled out his wand threateningly. "Memory charms can always be broken."

Draco glared at him. "And make me lose my mind."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Well, I'm not."

"Too bad I don't care," snapped Harry, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"Harry, will you help me with the potion?" Hermione had stood up, and now was standing right in front of Harry. "Please," she added.

Harry looked over her shoulder and glared at Draco, before actually turning his attention back at her and nodding abruptly. His cheeks flushed, and Hermione turned her eyes away quickly. Draco couldn't help noticing that they were embarrassed to find themselves so close to each other.

They walked out of the bedroom quietly, closing the door. Draco didn't make any remarks to them or about them. He had never seen Harry so resolute on something, and it was scary. Not in the same scary way as Ron, though. No, Ron seemed more like the crazy son of his aunt Bellatrix, but Harry did look very much like Dumbledore in that moment.

The door swung open and Harry came back in, carrying a pile of clothes. Jumpers, jeans, shirts, tee shirts and pyjamas. He walked towards the desk and dumped them on top before turning towards Draco. "These are my father's clothes. Look through them and see if there's something that you can wear," he said curtly.

"Oh yes, from this bed I can see everything," Draco snapped sarcastically.

Harry grabbed the first thing he could reach. "There's a jumper," he said, "jeans, shirts - pyjamas. I think you should wear pyjamas," he added practically.

"That's gold and red, I won't wear anything so Gryffindor-ish," spat Draco.

"Then stay in your underwear, I don't give a damn," said Harry, letting the pyjamas fall back on the desk.

Draco narrowed his eyes, an urge to throw something at Harry rose inside his head, but there was nothing near him that he could reach. He was sure that a pillow wouldn't have given the desired result, but would have only drawn a chuckle from Harry.

"Hand me the pyjamas," Draco hissed.

Harry looked at him, while a satisfied smirk appeared on his lips. "I don't think I heard the magic word," he teased.

"Avada Kedavra?" said Draco maliciously.

"Have fun dragging your body to the desk, Malfoy," replied Harry calmly.

"You don't seriously expect me to say 'please', do you, Potter?" Draco replied, narrowing his eyes in an effort to determine if he was serious.

Harry leaned against the desk and crossed his arms on his chest. "That would be a start, Malfoy. Since you are not even thanking us for taking care of you, without asking anything from you in return."

"I don't remember anything, that's why you can't ask me," hissed Draco.

Harry threw the pyjamas at him and it landed on Draco's face. "You are such a liar, Malfoy. But I don't give a damn, as long as you are lying on that bed, I'm fine with you here. But in less than a week we'll be leaving and there's no way you're coming with us."

Draco looked at him with hatred and fear. Harry thought that it was the fear of the knowledge that he would be left alone, and dying from the poison without anybody near him. A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine, as Harry believed that he had just scared Draco Malfoy, even if what he said was a lie. Thanks to his "saving the world" tendencies, Harry wouldn't let him die without trying everything he could. Or maybe it was just his common sense. But there was no need for Draco to know that.

"Wait for Hermione to bring you whatever she has to bring you, and then put the pyjamas on, I don't want you to dirty them with your blood," said Harry, stepping towards the door.

"It's pureblood, Potter," Draco called after him, but Harry shut the door without paying him attention.

Draco looked down at the clothes he was holding. It had gold and crimson vertical stripes. The colours were quite dark, nothing too eye-catching, but those were Gryffindor's colours, and he didn't like it. Not at all, but it wasn't exactly like he had much of a choice. This was the only pyjamas in the pile, and, oddly enough, the only clothes in Gryffindor's colours. All the other clothes were different shades of green and blue. I'm sure that there were other pyjamas, but Potthead had to bring me this, Draco thought angrily.

He tossed the pyjamas to on the other side of the bedroom exactly when the door opened and Hermione, carefully holding a little bottle, entered. She watched the flight of the clothing, and then turned to look at Draco, her eyebrows so high that they disappeared under her curls.

"I though you wanted something to wear," she said softly.

"Something to wear, not something that says 'look at me, I'm a Gryffindor fancier'," he retorted.

"It's just pyjamas," she pointed out tiredly, and for a moment Draco thought that he wouldn't have enjoyed starting a fight with her, because she didn't seem ready to argue.

"Give it back to me," he said slowly, nodding towards the pyjamas.

Hermione seized the pyjamas and put them on the bed. She sat down next to Draco and handed him the bottle that she was holding. Draco looked at it suspiciously; the liquid that whirled inside was a dark shade of scarlet and looked very like boiling blood.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Blood-Replenishing Potion," she answered simply. "Drink it."

Draco took it from her hands and made a face. "I'll drink it later," he said, placing it on the bedside-table.

"Malfoy, drink it," she said firmly.

"Later, Granger," he replied as firmly as her.

Hermione glared at him. "It's for your own good," she said. "You really should drink it."

"For my own good? I thought it was because you wanted to test your Healer ability on me. I'm not your guinea pig," he spat.

Hermione smiled bitterly. "I know. I was just trying to be useful. Just trying to save your life. I'm such a stupid girl, aren't I?"

"You are just testing your potions on me," he retorted.

"For-saving-your-life," she said stressing every single word. "Maybe I shouldn't have watched over you for the entire night."

"You fell asleep," pointed out Draco.

Hermione looked at him surprised. "How do you know? You slept all night."

"I heard you snore," he said promptly.

Hermione flushed. "That's a lie."

"It's not, you were snoring," he repeated with a smirk.

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Hermione, turning her head away from him and exposing a generous portion of her neck.

Draco narrowed his eyes, as he looked at a purple spot that stood out on her white skin. "What's that?" he asked mischievously. He already knew what it was, but wanted to hear it from her.

"What?" she asked, looking at him.

He stretched an arm towards her and made her turn her head again. He tugged on her chin gently, and brushed her neck with his fingertips. "Who kissed you, Granger?" Draco asked, shocked to hear the bitterness in his own voice.

Hermione automatically brought her right hand to her neck and widened her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Whoever did it left a nice mark on your neck," he said, smirking bitterly.

The colour drained from her face, and came back so suddenly that her cheeks went from a snow-white colour to a bloody crimson in seconds.

"It's just a hickey, Granger," said Draco. "Never had one before?"

But Hermione wasn't listening to him anymore. This was something that she didn't need at all. Ron was already angry, but if he found out that she had snogged Harry--. Snogged Harry? He just kissed my neck - in a very friendly way, she thought. Friendly, friendly, friendly. She was sure that friends didn't kiss that way, but maybe if she went on repeating that word, it would become true.

"So, was it Potthead or Weasel?" asked Draco, snapping her out of her thoughts. His eyes were fixed on her as though he was trying to read her mind.

Hermione flushed even more deeply and didn't answer.

"It's Potter, right?" he asked rather annoyed. "That's why you two both blushed when you stood so close earlier." He raised his thumb and index finger in front of her eyes.

"It's none of your business, Malfoy," she murmured, still too shocked to really answer. She didn't know why she was more shocked now than before, when it was really happening. While Harry was kissing her. Maybe it was because it took less than five seconds for Draco to understand what happened. Listening to him say it made it so real. And what if Ron found out as well? He would never speak to her again!

"God, Granger, and I thought you fancied Weasel," he said, shaking his head as if she was a little girl that had just deceived him.

"What do you care Malfoy?" Hermione hissed back. "My love life is none of your business."

"It's none of anybody business, since you don't have any bloody love life," he snapped.

Draco thought that she couldn't have turned redder than she did earlier, but he was wrong. He wondered how much she could actually blush, and if she could possibly die from spontaneous combustion, since he could feel a wave of heat rolling off her body.

"Just shut up," she hissed, and her voice was shaking slightly. "And I really mean it. If you tell Ron something, I swear that--"

"I won't tell him anything," Draco replied, cutting her off.

Hermione looked at him as if waiting for him to add something like 'yeah, sure, believe this, Granger', but he didn't. He looked at her seriously and then looked away.

"Why?" she asked softly. She didn't believe him.

"As you said, it's none of my business. Plus, I don't really care," Draco answered.

"And you would keep quiet only because it's none of your business?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"If you want me to tell him--"

"No," she cut him off quietly. "No."

Draco nodded curtly.

Hermione stood up from the bed and walked towards the door, her right hand was still covering the mark on her neck. She opened the door and turned to look at Draco. "Thanks," she murmured, before exiting.

Draco turned quickly towards her, but the door had already closed. He chewed on his bottom lip and took a deep breath, making every rib ache. He turned slowly towards the bottle that lay on the bedside table and collected it. Lifting it above his head, he closed his eyes.

***

Hermione looked frantically at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The mark on her neck was quite big, and Ron would certainly notice it, if she didn't find a way to conceal it.

She tried to think of a spell to remove it, but her mind was filled with other thoughts at that moment. Why did Harry kiss me? And why is Draco being so accommodating? What Ron would do if he finds out that Harry kissed me?

Hermione was so preoccupied with her problems that she didn't notice the door swinging open and a red-haired boy peeking inside.

It was only when he said, "What have you done to your neck?" that she became aware of Ron's presence in the bathroom. And then she heard a scream and everything turned black.