But Thy Eternal Summer Shall Not Fade

Hermione felt a couple of strong hands seizing her shoulders and raising her head from the cold floor of the bathroom. She felt her head pressed against someone's stomach, and that same someone called her name, but the sound that reached her ears was so far away and muffled, that it almost didn't seem real.

A soft light passed through her lowered eyelids, and then a person appeared in front of her, but she was sure that she hadn't opened her eyes. Maybe she was dreaming or having a hallucination; if she had banged her head it was quite probably both of these suggestions. There was a girl standing in front of her, she was tall with dark red hair and bright green eyes. She was looking back at Hermione with a mixture of surprise and fear on her face; exactly what Hermione was feeling at that moment.

"Hermione!"

Now her name echoed louder in her mind, she didn't want to open her eyes, but it seemed very likely that the person shaking her shoulders was now getting very worried. She raised her eyebrows and gasped for some air, noticing at that very moment that she had been holding her breath. A pair of brown eyes was staring down at her, filled with concern and a little relief for the fact that she was awake.

She closed her eyes again and shook her head gently. Nobody, other than her, had brown eyes in that house. Ron's were blue, Harry's green and Draco's grey. Was she going crazy? She opened her eyes again and now she saw two emerald eyes, behind a pair of round glasses, looking at her.

"Hermione, are you alright?" asked Harry, his face coming closer to hers.

Was she alright? She didn't seem have pain anywhere, except maybe just a little bit in her back, which was probably due to the fact that she had hit the floor. But her head felt perfectly fine, and she could move every part of her body. She nodded and stretched out an arm to Harry.

He let her head down gently and stood up, taking her hand; he helped her on her feet. "Are you sure everything is alright?" he asked again.

"Yes, I think so, I don't even know what happened," she admitted, her voice a bit hoarse. And it was true, she just found herself on that floor, while the world around her had disappeared, and a scream had filled her ears. Hermione glanced around at the bathroom and for the first time she noticed that Ron was there as well. He sat on the floor; a long and rather deep cut went from under his left eye almost down to his mouth. He was looking in front of him, his chest moving up and down quickly with the effort of breathing.

Hermione kneeled down next to him, fear in her eyes. "Ron," she called him, "are you alright? What happened?"

Ron raised his eyes to her and shook his head.

Hermione turned towards Harry. "What happened?"

Harry shook his head as well. "I don't know," he murmured. "I heard a scream and I hurried in here, and found that you and Ron were lying on the floor. Ron was awake, but you weren't. And Ron was trying to get near you, but he couldn't and--"

"What?" she cut him off, without understanding.

"He was pushed away every time he tried to get close to you," explained Harry, kneeling next to her.

Hermione's eyes travelled from Harry to Ron and back, confusion and a desire to understand what was going on in that bathroom on her face. "And you weren't?" she asked in a bare whisper.

Harry's face coloured. He was embarrassed by the fact that he managed to reach her, while Ron hadn't been able to, but he wasn't sure why. "No, but maybe it's because I arrived later," he mumbled.

Hermione nodded and turned her attention towards Ron. She stretched out an arm and brushed his cheek, causing him to whimper from the pain. "Sorry," she said hastily, taking away her hand. "I-I heard a scream too."

Ron gulped and it seemed to take him ages before he was able to gather his thoughts and answer her, and when he did, his voice was hoarse, and his words unsure, as if he hadn't understood what had happened himself. "It was me," he admitted. "I've been attacked by something." He sighed. "And it's the second time in this house, I don't like it."

Hermione nodded sympathetically. She could understand him, because she had been attacked by something now as well. But she couldn't say that it was something unpleasant, on the contrary, it made her feel rather powerful and safe.

"And I saw that you have been attacked as well, because your eyes rolled back and you fell on the floor, and--" He stopped, frowning slightly as something on her neck caught his attention. He stretched out and arm and brushed her skin with his fingertips, just like Draco had done earlier, and she jumped in surprise. The hickey.

She looked at Ron with horror in her eyes, while a thousand excuses were trying to from her brain to explain the mark, but not one seemed good enough. But Ron didn't seem to be going to get angry with her or anything. He just raised his eyes and locked them to hers.

"You've a bruise on your neck, maybe from when you fell - does it hurt you?" he asked caringly.

Hermione's mouth opened slightly in surprise, she frowned a little without being aware that she was doing so. For a moment she was thankful for Ron's ingenuousness. She brought her hand to her neck and nodded.

"Does it hurt?" asked Ron concerned.

"No," she answered hastily. "No, it's just that I must have banged against something."

"And it doesn't hurt you?" asked Harry, coming closer to her and eyeing the mark as well.

She turned towards him and shot him a deadly glare. Okay, Ron was naive, but how could Harry [Author ID1: at Mon Nov 20 21:06:00 2006 ]have been so stupid? "No, it doesn't hurt," she said, emphasizing every single word as if to underline that the conversation stopped there.

Harry nodded and looked back at Ron. "What about you, Ron? Anything broken?"

Ron shook his head. "No, I don't think so, but I can't say that I'm fine," he said. "My cheek is hurting so badly, and my back as well. I've banged against the doorpost of the bathroom."

"Your cheek is bleeding," stated Hermione. "I can prepare something for you, a Wound-Healing Potion. I was going to prepare some for Malfoy."

Ron looked at her, and for a moment he had to bite his tongue and restrain himself from saying that he didn't want to be given the same thing that she was going to prepare for Draco. But instead he merely nodded. "Thanks, Hermione."

Hermione smiled and stood up. Harry stood up as well, and they both offered their hands to Ron. He took them and, with a great effort that almost sent Hermione on the floor for the second time, he rose up on his feet and staggered a little before he was able to lean against the door of the bathroom and steady himself.

"Do you think you can climb down the stairs?" asked Harry, guiding him on the landing with an arm around his friend's back.

"Yes, I'm fine, really," answered Ron, trying to smile. "It's just the pain. I mean that force was really powerful."

"You can lean on my shoulder," proposed Harry. "If the pain is too excruciating."

"You are a little bit too-" Ron's cheeks turned pretty red. "-short, Harry. My back would hurt me even more."

Harry looked at him, raising his eyebrows. "Why do I never hear you say, 'I'm a little bit too tall'?" he asked, grinning.

"I've never even said that you are too short, this was the first time," pointed out Ron.

"I was just kidding," said Harry, raising his hands. "You can lean against the stairs' railing then, but I'm not sure that it's taller than me."

"Oh, stop teasing each other already," broke in Hermione, following them. "Ron's cheek needs to be taken care of, so we better get a move on."

Both boys grinned at her and started to climb down the stairs, Harry jumping on the stairs like a child and Ron following him and wincing every now and then when some part of his body ached. Hermione followed suit, observing Ron's slow movements from behind.

Eventually they all reached the first floor, slowly and, for some, painfully. Hermione circled Ron and stood in front of him, so close that she could have counted the freckles on his nose, if at that moment she wasn't more interested in the bad cut that crossed his cheek. "Ron, just sit down while I'll prepare the potion, it won't take too long," she said, nodding towards the couch. "Harry, can you prepare something to eat, in the meantime? Maybe some sandwiches," she added as an afterthought.

Harry nodded. "Sit down, Ron. We'll be right back," he said to Ron, since he was still standing on his feet.

Hermione walked into the kitchen, and stepped quickly towards the sink, turning on the water. Harry entered as well, and moved towards the cupboard, looking for the bread. He was stretching out an arm to open the doors, when Hermione seized his sleeve and dragged him near the running water. "That's not a bruise," she whispered so softly that Harry had to bend closer to her to understand. She fingered her neck and turned her head to give him have a better view of the offending mark.

"No?" asked Harry vaguely. Hermione wondered if he was serious, or if he was just pretending not to understand. She could tell that his cheeks were turning a darker shade of red than usual, but maybe it was just her closeness that made him blush. He blushes because he's near me?

"No," she answered curtly. "Doesn't it remind you of anything? Don't say it doesn't, because it happened only this morning," she added warningly.

Harry narrowed his eyes, concentrating as he looked from the mark to her face. When the realization finally hit him, he backed up a little. "W-was I - d-did I--?"

Hermione nodded. "I was trying to cover it when Ron entered into the bathroom, and I was so scared! Luckily that something knocked us both out."

"Wrong," said Harry, who couldn't quite take his eyes off her neck. The thought that it was his fault that she had that thing on her neck made him feel strange. Guilty and proud at the same time. "It knocked you out, but it sent Ron towards the door, nothing more."

"What do you mean?" she asked without understanding.

"I mean that you fainted, but he didn't," he explained, finally tearing away his eyes from the hickey. "And also that it was painful for him, but you are perfectly fine."

"Should I have been in pain?" she whispered sharply.

Harry came closer to her. "No," he said calmly. "Can't you turn off the water? I can't hear anything."

"No," she answered forcefully. "I turned it on so Ron couldn't listen to us. I don't want him to know that you left a hickey on my neck."

"Yeah, pretty awkward, isn't it?" answered Harry, looking at the door of the kitchen, as if he was afraid that Ron could have entered at any time.

"Awkward?" she asked. "Let's just say that Ron wouldn't speak to us for the rest of our lives."

Harry sighed and leaned against the cupboard, his arms crossed on his chest. "I still don't get why I kissed you," he sighed, shaking his head and trying to sound calm and not at all terribly embarrassed.

Hermione lowered her eyes. "And I don't get why I let you," she muttered slowly. "I'll try to cover it."

"Why? Ron's already seen it, just wait till it goes away by itself," he stated simply. "Brew the potion, I'll make the sandwiches."

Hermione nodded, she filled a small pot with some water, and put it on the stove. Then she walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, where Ron lay on the couch. Her potions book lay on the coffee table.

Ron looked at her; his blue eyes seemed to be the biggest thing on his white face. The blood on his left cheek had already dried, and now he looked like the main character of The Phantom of the Opera, with ghostly-white skin and half of his features hidden by a mask.

"I forgot my book," she said him, trying to sound casual.

Ron nodded, he opened his mouth to say something, but at the last moment he seemed to think differently and smiled a little. A grateful smile, that Hermione was sure she would have never seen on Draco's face. Even if she found the right antidote to the poison and saved his life, he would probably never do much more than look at her with less contempt than usual. For a moment her knees went wobbly and something melted inside her. She smiled back at him, before walking back to the kitchen, where a sandwich was sitting on the table.

"Should I bring this to Ron?" she asked Harry, who was giving her his back and preparing the second sandwich.

"No, it's for you," he answered, squeezing a tube of mayonnaise on a slice of bread. "Ron said that he had already eaten."

"What?" she asked, opening her book and searching for the Wound-Healing Potion.

"What - what?" questioned Harry, half turning towards her.

"What did he eat?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in the effort to recall the right page for the Wound-Healing Potion.

Harry stopped with a slice of ham in his hand. "How should I know?" he asked her, frowning. "Why are you worried about that? I mean, he just ate without waiting for us. Not so surprising, it's Ron, after all."

"I was just curious, there are no dirty plates here," she said, nodding towards the sink.

"He washed it?" asked Harry tentatively.

"There are no plates that are draining either," she replied firmly.

"He washed and dried it?" He looked at her, frowning again. "Why are you asking me about Ron having or not having lunch? He said he did, and I know Ron well enough to know that he had certainly eaten something if he says so." He stopped for a while, looking thoughtfully in front of him. "Bloody hell, I think I would think that he had eaten something even if he says that he hadn't. It's Ron, Hermione."

"Okay," agreed Hermione, placing the open book on the table and starting to look for the right ingredients in her bottles. "I was just curious."

Harry nodded and went back to his sandwich. Then something hit him and he smiled as he turned towards her and said, "Very likely he ate a sandwich as well. I don't think there's much he can cook."

***

"Ron, stay still," Hermione commanded firmly. Her head was bent over him as she was taking a better look at his cut, and her hand stretched towards his cheek as she was trying to spread the potion on his cheek.

"It stings," hissed Ron, twisting on the couch.

"For God's sake, Ron, you are exactly like Malfoy," she snapped. "You just have to stay still for a moment, then you can twist and moan in pain as long as you want."

Ron looked at her from the couch, his eyes a little bit darker then before, and his expression was anything but grateful. Hermione was sure that he had the urge to tell her to leave him alone. It didn't matter if his cut was deep and ached, he would have preferred to feel that pain rather than the one caused by the potion. "Why don't you prepare something that acts from the inside?" he questioned her, narrowing his eyes.

"Because this is the quickest potion for healing a cut. All the other potions take a day or two, and this will cure your cheek in half an hour at the most," she explained, trying to sound calm, while she was not calm at all. She was trying to take care of two boys, and both of them kept on complaining about everything she did. Boys, she thought annoyed, they just think that everything is about them.

"Just be gentle," he grumbled, snapping her out of her feminist thoughts.

Hermione looked at him and sighed. "And you just stay still," she retorted.

Ron nodded and followed her hand as she dipped it into the potion, which was a pale green colour. Then, with the moisture on her fingers, she touched his cheek again. Ron bit his bottom lip, and that prevented him from screaming from the pain, but with his jaw set and his facial muscles tensed up, [Author ID1: at Mon Nov 20 21:22:00 2006 ]the operation was even more painful for him.

"Relax," whispered Hermione sweetly. And to Ron's great surprise he relaxed. The cut didn't stop stinging, nor Hermione had taken her hand away, but her voice had the strength to make him feel like he was in safe hands. And plus he had the opportunity to feel Hermione's hand on his bare skin.

I must not blush. I must not blush. I must not blush, Ron thought forcefully. Hermione was too near and she could have not only seen his crimson colour, but also sensed the burning hotness coming from his face. He didn't want to let her know that he was sweating too, and he seriously hoped that she wouldn't place her fingers on his neck to check his heartbeat, although she would have probably been worried because of its pace.

"Ron, are you alright?" asked Harry, towering over him from the back of the couch.

Ron's eyes focused again and he found himself staring at Hermione, who was starting to flush as well. He thought that it was because she felt observed by him. He opened his mouth to answer, but the wound hurt him badly, and he had to set his lips and close his eyes.

"Maybe you won't be able to talk for a while," he heard Hermione say. "But don't worry, soon you'll be like new."

"He won't be able to talk? What unexpected good news," joked Harry, grinning.

Ron tilted his neck and glared at him, but couldn't reply at all, so he hoped that his dark eyes said enough for him.

Hermione took the bottle in her hands. "I'll see you later," she said, walking away.

Ron would have asked her where she was going, why she was leaving him there, instead of watching over his cut and ensuring it healed the right way, but he couldn't speak. And it would also be useless, he thought bitterly, since I know that she's going upstairs.

His suspicions were confirmed when he heard her steps on the stairs, climbing up slowly, as if she was paying attention not to spill the potion. Ron tried to shake away the jealousy that he feared was rising inside his mind at the very thought of Draco alone with Hermione. Honestly, it's Malfoy, he thought with disgust.

Ron felt, rather than saw, Harry's presence close to him. He was still leaning against the back of the couch, but he wasn't looking at him anymore. He raised his eyes and looked at Harry, and noticed that his friend's attention was turned towards the stairs that Ron could not see. Harry looked thoughtful, as if he had more things on his mind than he would have ever wanted to talk about. For a moment Harry's face overlapped Draco's in Ron's mind, and in his eyes were lit with the colour of fire.

***

"What happened?"

Hermione didn't even have the chance to fully open the door and step inside the bedroom before he was questioning her about something that she wasn't so keen to tell him. She didn't want to let him know that she had passed out, that Ron had screamed, and that they had both been assaulted by some invisible force in the bathroom.

She entered and glanced at Draco. He was pale, paler than before, and tense; his head stood a couple of inches from the pillow, and the frame of his muscles was now visible on his stomach. She thought that he must have felt terrible pain, because of the tension around his wound, but his face was set with a look of intense determination.

Hermione stood in the door for a while, looking from his facial features down to his neck, where the veins stood out like little poisoned snakes. She continued to follow the curves of his torso and caress the muscles of his stomach with her eyes. She took a deep breath and shook her head, in the desperate attempt to shove any thought about Draco at the back of her head.

"So?" asked Draco, annoyed by her silence. His head fell back on the pillow and his body relaxed. All of a sudden, the wound on his stomach filled with blood, but this time it was just a tiny line between the greenish edges of the wound, as if he hadn't enough blood left to fully fill his cut.

Hermione closed the door and walked towards the bed. She placed the bottle on the bedside table and looked at him, her expression unreadable. "You drank the Blood-Replenishing Potion, didn't you?" she asked.

He didn't answer, but shoved into her hands the empty bottle that lay on the other bedside table. The walls of the bottle were a bit red from the remains of the potion, Hermione noted. "When?"

"When what?" asked Draco.

"When did you drink it? Because it seems like it isn't working," she answered, nodding towards his cut. The blood had stopped flowing.

"I've just drunk it," he replied darkly.

"Just - when?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Tell me what happened out there and I'll tell you when I've drunk this bloody potion," he snapped.

Hermione frowned. What did he care? Why was he so keen to find out what had happened earlier that he didn't even wait for her to enter that bedroom? Was this just curiosity? She didn't think so. Then what? Maybe Ron was right, and she shouldn't have trusted Draco Malfoy in that stupid and dangerous way that she was doing. Maybe he was just preparing a trap for them, and now he wanted to know if that scream he had heard was caused by an attack of his Death Eater colleagues. After all, they still didn't know much about how he ended up at Godric's Hollow or how he managed to find them.

"Granger!" he called her forcefully.

Hermione blinked as his voice brought her back to reality.

"What the hell happened there?" he asked, and she was surprised to hear a note of urgency. No, she wasn't surprised, but alarmed.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked sharply.

Draco narrowed his grey eyes, and it seemed like he was going to cross his arms on his chest, but he couldn't, for the pain prevented him from doing so. "Why you don't want to tell me? I heard Weasel screaming-"

"It's none of your business," she cried out.

"-and Potter was calling your name. And he was afraid."

Hermione looked at him and frowned. "Was he afraid?"

"Why are you asking me? Didn't you hear him?" he questioned haughtily.

"Oh fine," she snapped, sitting on the bed next to him. "I fainted, that's why I didn't hear him. Are you happy now?"

Draco's face was indecipherable. "Why did you faint?" he asked flatly.

Hermione bit her bottom lip. "For the same reason Ron screamed. Something hit us."

"Something hit you?" asked Draco without understanding.

Hermione nodded.

"And this something has a name?"

Hermione pretended to think. "Nasty invisible force," she answered.

"An invisible force?" asked Draco, and instead of being surprised, he seemed concerned.

"Don't forget the nasty part."

"What happened exactly?"

"Why do you mind so much?"

Draco glared at her. "You started to tell, I'm curious."

"I was in the bathroom," she started slowly, looking intently at Draco to capture any reaction to her story. Fear, relief, annoyance. "I was looking at the hickey on my neck and was trying to think of something to it, when the door opened and Ron entered. But I didn't see him until he spoke."

"What did he say?" asked Draco, poking her into talking.

Hermione half-closed her eyes in the attempt to concentrate. What did he say? Something about my neck... The colour drained from her face as she recalled what Ron had told her.

"Something about the hickey?" asked Draco, and in his voice was cold and calculating, as if he was trying to see if an experiment had worked.

"I-I don't know," she answered.

"You don't know? You are kidding me," snapped Draco. "You said he spoke."

"He asked me something about my neck, not about the hickey," she replied. "No, not about the hickey, because he didn't know that I already had it before I fell."

"What?"

"He suggested that it could have been a bruise from the falling," she explained.

Draco looked at her deluded. "And that's all?" he asked.

She nodded.

"But you were afraid, weren't you? And he sounded threatening," he continued.

Hermione looked at him shocked. "What are you talking about? What should I have been afraid of? Ron?"

"Afraid that he might have found out your little affair with Potter," he replied.

"I have no affair with Harry, Malfoy," she snapped. "And yes, I was afraid that he could have seen the hickey, but he didn't sound threatening."

"He must have," murmured Draco.

Hermione frowned. She was giving him the usual look of half hatred and half envy that she used to give him back at Hogwarts when Snape chose his raised hand for answering a question, instead of hers. "Why?" she asked sharply. "And what do you know that we don't, Malfoy?"

Draco smirked. "Well, I know a lot more things than Weasel, and I think I'm better than Potter in some fields as well, about you--"

"You are plotting something," hissed Hermione, and it wasn't a question or a supposition.

"A part from dying for loss of your cures?"

"Don't be clever with me, I know that you know something that we don't," she snapped. "You are plotting something against us."

"Is it just me, or does this conversation sound a little bit like a Weasley-ish one?"

"It's you."

Draco shook his head. "Just give me that potion already, and then go downstairs and tell your little friends that I'm a Death Eater."

Hermione seemed ready to shove her hands in his wound and pull out his liver and throw it out of the window. But instead she seized the bottle on the bedside table and poured some of the potion on her fingers, paying careful attention not to spill it on the floor.

She turned, and without looking at his face, she moved her hands towards the wound so quickly that Draco didn't even have the time to stop or question her about what she was using on him.

But when she started to trace the length of his cut with her fingertips, he pushed her away as he had done every time he felt her touch on his bare skin. For a moment both of them thought that it was almost a habit, rather than the fact that she was hurting him.

"Stop struggling," she commanded. "Stop moving. Stop talking. Stop being such a child."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, stop complaining about everything I do to you," she snapped.

Draco smirked and was almost certainly going to make quite a nasty remark about her last phrase, if she hadn't been quicker than him. Her fingers were already moving to his cut again, sending something very close to blinding pain from his stomach up to his torso and shoulders. And that closed his mouth, and took away his breath as well.

"You are just like Ron," murmured Hermione.

Draco gasped sharply for air as she reached the middle of his stomach, right under his navel. Hermione stopped and raised her eyes to his face, he was a greenish and unhealthy colour, and she couldn't help feeling a little bad for him. She shook her head. She didn't want to feel for bad for Draco.

"Why?" he asked, his voice curt of air.

"Why?" she repeated without understanding.

"Why am I just like Weasley? You didn't exactly pay me a compliment," he muttered.

She sighed. "Because he complained just like you when I spread this potion on his wound."

"Is Weasley wounded?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Just a little cut on his cheek," she answered. "Nothing of serious. And with this potion it'll be healed in a half an hour."

"How did--"

"When the force hit him, Malfoy," she hissed. "Are you back with the questions?"

"You didn't tell me everything," he hissed back.

"And you didn't tell me anything at all," she retorted. "When did you drink the potion?"

"About ten minutes ago. Why are you so obsessed over this potion, Granger?" he asked, his voice weary.

"Because it has not yet worked, evidently," she explained. "Your wound doesn't even manage to fill with blood. And you are pale. So pale-" She placed a hand on his forehead and, without noticing, her long hair brushed his naked chest. "-and hot. You still have a fever, and your cheeks should be crimson, but instead they are only a pale pink colour."

She moved away from his forehead, and Draco opened his mouth to speak, but instead he inhaled deeply, noticing only at that moment that he had been holding his breath while she was so close to him. Why? he wondered, genuinely surprised. And he came to the conclusion that she was giving him something new, something that came close to respect. Not that he hadn't been respected in his life and especially in the last few months, but this was totally different. She was showing him - he didn't know what to call it. Affection? Yes, very probably it was that. And he hated her for that, because this was stirring something in him that was sure to make his life all the more difficult.

"Malfoy, are you even listening to me?" she snapped. Draco raised his eyes on her face and blinked.

"Sure," he answered, smirking. "You were talking about my colour."

"That was ages ago," she snorted. "I was asking you if I could go on spreading the potion."

Draco looked at her uncomfortably. "Now you ask me," he said, looking at some point past her shoulder. "I thought you liked to catch me off guard."

Hermione flushed without an apparent reason. "I thought that if I had alerted you, you would have felt less pain," she murmured. "Because you were ready for it."

"Of course, and you want to make me believe that you care," he answered haughtily.

Hermione blushed even more, and this time there was a reason. He had the power to get on her nerves so quickly that it was almost incredible that she had not yet slapped him across his face, just like she had back in their third year. "No," she hissed. "You are right, I don't care."

Draco regretted what he said, because she started to spread the potion on his open wound without waiting for his answer nor being as gentle as she was earlier. Her fingers sunk into his unhealed cut, and he was sure that she felt a pleasant sense of revenge for the way he was treating her. Not a very nice gesture from the sidekick of the hero to the Wizarding World, but he was sure that he would have done the same if he was in her place. He closed his eyes, bit his bottom lip and clenched his fists. He dug his nails into his palms, dragging away the pain from his stomach to other parts of his body and, in someway, lessening it. He would not give her the satisfaction of hearing him screaming in pain.

He could tell that Hermione had finished not because he felt her fingers leaving his skin, which was now thankfully numb, but because he sensed her weight lifting from the bed.

He opened his eyes and looked as she collected the bottles from the bedside table and walked towards the door. She placed her hand on the handle and stopped.

"Even if you hate me, Malfoy," she hissed, "that doesn't mean that I don't care for you."

And she walked out of the bedroom without even turning to glance at him.

***

Ron opened his mouth and closed it. Then he opened it and closed it another time. And then again. He brought his left hand to his cheek and brushed it. It was soft and perfectly smooth, as if he had never had anything, especially not a deep cut that went from his eye to his jaw.

"I think you can also speak now," said Harry, observing his movements from the armchair opposite to the couch. "Come on, I'm getting bored."

Ron looked at Harry. "Err - hi," he stammered hoarsely.

"Yes, well, something more interesting maybe?" teased Harry.

"I was just giving my voice a try," answered Ron defensibly. "Wouldn't like it if it resembled the Dark Lord's."

Harry laughed. "Why not? It's so wicked," he joked.

Ron snorted. "By the way, is Hermione still up there?" he asked, nodding towards the second floor.

Harry shrugged. "Yes, I think," he answered. "I heard some moans, and I bet that Malfoy is suffering unbearable pain from that potion."

"I hope so," murmured Ron coldly.

Harry gave him a peculiar look. Ron hoped that Draco was suffering unbearable pain? Was that normal? Was he hoping that too? No, he wasn't. He and Ron had the same experiences with the Slytherin, but Ron seemed much more venomous towards him than Harry had ever been. Why? He remembered the figure of Viktor Krum under Ron's bed, broken and angrily thrown away only because the real Viktor went to the Yule Ball with Hermione. And now he was acting just like he had done in that period with the Bulgarian Quidditch player. Was it possible that Ron was jealous of Draco? Harry chuckled, no it was impossible. It was just Draco, and Ron hated him. That was all.

"What's so funny?" Ron asked him.

"Nothing," answered Harry a little bit too quickly. "What were we talking about?"

"About Hermione being still upstairs," answered Ron darkly. "Alone with Malfoy. I wonder what the hell is taking her so long to--"

"Just Malfoy's stubbornness," answered an icy voice at Ron's back. "And the fact that he, just like you, didn't stay still."

Hermione circled the couch and Ron looked at her, his cheeks the colour of fire.

"What were you saying about me being alone with Malfoy? What exactly do you think I was doing?" she asked coldly, placing her hands on her hips in a way that reminded Ron of his mother.

But she wasn't his mother and Ron wasn't a child anymore, so he stood up from the couch, towering over her, and crossed his arms on his chest. His eyes were dark, and Harry had the sudden thought that he was going to slap her. "And what were you doing exactly?"

Hermione glared at him. "Just spreading the potion on his wound, exactly like I did with you," she snapped.

"It took you long enough," he hissed.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What's your problem, Ron?" she asked.

"What's my problem? What's your problem, Hermione?" snapped Ron. "It's not me that came down here and started to yell."

"I've not yelled," she screamed. "I'm doing it right now, but I've not yelled earlier. And I thought the first thing you would have said when you could speak was 'thank you for curing me, Hermione', but no, naturally not. You are too much stubborn to think that I might have wanted some thanks."

Harry observed them with his eyebrows raised. Hermione seemed ready to hex Ron, and Ron looked like he would have hexed her back if she started a fight. He couldn't fully understand what was going on though, Hermione had just climbed down the stairs and she and Ron had started to scream at each other, without a concrete reason. But that was not all, because Harry couldn't comprehend what was going on in his own mind as well. While he looked at his friends, he felt the urge to stand between them and protect Hermione from Ron. He shook his head and shoved that thought to the back of his head, convincing himself that it was useless, since Ron would have never touched her, not even with a finger.

But he was wrong, because, all of a sudden, Ron took a step towards Hermione, and for a moment both Harry and Hermione feared that he was going to hurt her. Harry jumped to his feet, but froze when he saw Ron placing his hands on Hermione's hips and pulled her towards him. His arms slid around her back and circled her protectively, and Ron closed his eyes, leaning his head on Hermione's bushy hair.

Hermione felt her cheeks blush, as her body was melting against Ron's. She could feel his tensed muscles under the thin fabric of his shirt, and the image of Draco flashed in front of her eyes as she remembered seeing his bare chest. Ron tightened his grip on her body and her heart skipped a beat before starting to race. She couldn't hear Ron's breath, though, as if he was holding his breath to concentrate on her every reaction. And then her mind was dragged away from that whirl of emotions as her skin started to tingle where it was making contact with Ron's body. At the beginning it was an imperceptible sensation, as if she was dipping in a tub filled with an effervescent drink and the bubbles were brushing her skin. But then the sensation became stronger and the tickle that she had found pleasant started to transform into something painful, and then it became unbearable, and she felt as if her skin was on fire and at the same time pierced by thousands of needles.

Harry didn't know what happened. A minute earlier Ron and Hermione were fighting, and a moment later Ron was hugging her. He felt embarrassed because he was just standing there, without doing anything other than watching them. A part of his brain was telling him to walk away, to go into the kitchen, to go upstairs and start a nice discussion about Quidditch with Draco; to do something at least, instead of staying there and watching them; but he couldn't because there was another part of his brain that was telling him to hex Ron away from Hermione. And after what seemed like ages to him, it didn't seem necessary anymore. Hermione bit her bottom lip, preventing a scream that almost escaped her lips, and started to struggle under Ron's arms, trying to find a way to break the embrace.

"Ron," she moaned, but it wasn't the same moan that Harry had heard earlier that morning in the cemetery. She was moaning from the pain. "Ron, let me go," she pleaded, her voice broken.

As if her words had some magical effect on him, his muscles relaxed and he moved his arms away from her back, slowly letting her go. Ron stepped back and looked at her in shock when he saw the intense pain in her eyes. As if he had just slapped her, instead of hugging her.

The silence that fell upon them was so thick that they could have cut it with a knife. The only things that they could hear were their breath and the imperceptible sound of their heartbeats.

Ron frowned, shook his head and backed away a little. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound exited. He looked at Hermione, and she looked back at him, locking her eyes into his and rubbing her hands as if she has just dipped them into some bubotuber pus and was now trying to give them some relief.

"Ron, I--"

"Don't," he warned her. "Don't say anything."

"Ron, it's not what you--"

"Hermione, just shut up," he said bitterly. And without even waiting for her to reply, he walked out of the living room, and into the kitchen. Harry and Hermione heard the back door bang and some soft steps on the stairs on the back.

If Harry hadn't understood what had happened until that very moment, now he was even more confused. He looked at Hermione as she stood there with a crestfallen expression on her face, and tears that were already drying on her cheeks. He hadn't even noticed her cry. He moved towards her and stretched out a hand to touch her, but Hermione backed away and looked at him.

"Harry, I didn't mean to..."

Harry nodded. "I know Hermione," he lied, he didn't know anything at all. "It must be hard after all--" [Author ID2: at Mon Nov 20 11:16:00 2006 ]

"No," she cut him off. "No, it hurt, it really did."

"Well, it's normal, after all the time that you two--"

"No," she exclaimed forcefully. "No. Look." Hermione stretched her arms towards him and Harry couldn't help recoiling in horror. Her hands were red and covered with little pulsating blisters, which seemed ready to burst in any moment. Her long sleeves covered her arms up to her wrists, but Harry was sure that the blisters went on even under the texture.

"What--?"

But in the exact moment he spoke, the blisters were swallowed back in her flesh and her skin paled, becoming the rosy and normal colour that it should have been.

"Hermione?" Harry called her, tearing his eyes away from her hands. Hermione glanced up at him. "What happened?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted. "I just know that it hurt."

"I bet it hurt. Bloody hell, now I know why you couldn't help but resist being in Ron's arms, it must have been an excruciating pain to bear. Let's go find Ron and explain to him what happened," he proposed.

"No," she refused.

"Why not?"

"Because it was Ron's proximity that caused this," she murmured. "I didn't have any blisters or welts before he touched me."

"You mean that you had this kind of allergic reaction to Ron's contact?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Allergic reaction?" she repeated surprised. "I don't know, it never happened before."

"Have you ever touched Ron before?"

"Of course I have," hissed Hermione, narrowing her eyes in an effort to recall every time she had touched Ron. All the other times she was perfectly fine.

"Then it's not something Ron-related, is it?"

"How should I know?" she asked, surprised by the fact that she couldn't think of anything at all, while Harry came up with so many theories in that short amount of time. She came to the conclusion that she was still upset about the fact that Ron had hugged her, and the fact that her skin had almost cracked in a thousand blisters.

"Want to try an experiment?" asked Harry softly.

Hermione frowned, but when she saw his hand rising towards her cheek, she understood and didn't move. Harry's hand brushed her cheek, and then his palm leaned and pressed gently on her skin. Hermione closed her eyes and let out a sigh, while the warm hand caressed her. She liked it and, again, her heart started to race while one of her friends touched her. She would have stayed there forever, with Harry's hand on her cheek and his soft breath in her ears. His palm was smooth and contrary to what had happened with Ron, it didn't give any sign of hurting her.

"Nothing?" Harry's voice broke into her thoughts.

Hermione's eyes flew open. "Nothing," she answered.

Harry nodded, and took away his hand. "I would try another time," he murmured, without moving. He stood there, looking at her as if waiting for her to do something.

"So?" she asked, smiling a little.

"No, not with me."

"Malfoy?" she asked surprised.

Harry nodded. "Just touch him."

"And if he doesn't want to be touched by me?" she asked darkly.

"Petrify him," answered Harry simply, with a little shrug.

Hermione frowned, but she didn't reply, she didn't even know what to say. She was clueless about what was happening, and the only thing that she felt was the desire to stay there with Harry. But she was too curious, and Harry's suggestion seemed too good to ignore. She turned and climbed up the stairs as noiselessly as she could, feeling Harry's eyes on her back.

She reached the landing and walked into the bedroom. She opened the door quietly without knowing why; she wanted to make as little noise as possible. And when she saw Draco, she understood that it had been a good idea not to stomp into the room.

He was sleeping, or better he was knocked out from the pain. That would let her have her way with him. She walked slowly towards him and looked at him carefully. He was sweaty and still terribly pale, as if the Blood-Replenishing Potion had not had any effect on him. She wondered if she had done something wrong, and hoped that she hadn't.

Draco's arms lay at his sides, he had managed to cover himself up to his chest with some of the covers, but his arms were exposed to her. Hermione looked at the bare skin of his neck and his shoulder and wondered if he would have mind too much if she touched him. A filthy Mudblood? she thought sulkily, of course he'll mind.

She put her hand on his left upper arm, and waited. What was she expecting to feel? Pain? No, she wasn't feeling pain. He was hot. And she was fine with that sensation under her palm. No pain, no blisters, no red skin.

She sighed, her heart nearly broken by the fact that only Ron caused that reaction in her. She moved her hand away, but something caught her attention and she seized his arm again, bending over it. There was a black spot on his left arm, right under the hollow of his elbow, almost hidden by the fact that it was on the inside part of his upper limb. She felt her heart racing, could it have been the Dark Mark?

She seized his hand with hers and with the other she gripped his upper arm, without noticing that she was tightening her grasp almost spasmodically.

Why didn't she notice it before? She was too focused on taking care of him. Taking care of a Death Eater, she thought bitterly. But Ron and Harry? They had always been positive that he was one of Voldemort's followers, why didn't they point that out to her? Didn't they look for the Dark Mark? Didn't they see it? And why hadn't Malfoy done anything to mask it?

She shook her head. She had not yet turned his arm, and was already coming to a thousand conclusions. Maybe it wasn't at all what she thought it was. She snorted. How many probabilities there were that he was a real Death Eater at only seventeen years old?

Hermione gulped, and started to turn the arm upside down. But the pressure of her fingers on his arm had become too strong, and Draco wasn't too deeply asleep to notice it. And Hermione was too focused on what she was going to be aware of his right arm coming closer to her head, taking a fist of her curls and dragging her down on the bed next to him.

She didn't have the time to understand what was happening, because Draco pressed his left hand on her mouth and she felt his hot breath on her ear as he came closer and cleared his throat before speaking.