But Thy Eternal Summer Shall Not Fade

Harry felt his cover pulled away, and the source of warmth that had been leaning against his stomach disappeared so abruptly that for a moment he felt terribly exposed. He opened his eyes and looked in front of him. There was the TV, the coffee table and the armchairs. When I've come into the living room? he wondered sleepily. He was sure that he had gone to sleep upstairs, in his bedroom, with Ron next to him on the double bed. He remembered it pretty well, because he had tried to talk to him, but couldn't find anything to tell.

He heard a choked cry and lowered his eyes to the floor. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Hermione. She was looking back at him, her eyes huge and scared. She was lying on the ground, leaning on a hand while with the other she gripped the cover at her chest. Harry took a moment to realize that under that cover she was naked, and that the source of warmth on his stomach had been her back.

He opened his mouth for speaking, but no sound exited. Then something hit him, and he made his hand slide down his chest and hip, too afraid to know if he was wearing something from his waist, down, to even peer. When he brushed the texture of his pyjamas, he let out the breath that he didn't know he was holding.

Then Harry looked back at Hermione and gulped noisily. "Tell me that you are wearing something under that cover," he whispered hoarsely.

Hermione looked at him blankly, still too shocked for even answering. Her naked feet appeared at one end of the cover, but that didn't mean anything because she wouldn't have gone to bed with her shoes; but yet again, she hadn't gone to bed. She was lying on the armchair upstairs.

She sneaked her own hand under the cover and felt her knickers at their place, but her pyjamas were completely gone. She raised her eyes on Harry and nodded. He sighed in relief.

"If my knickers count as something," she murmured.

Harry gasped. "Nothing else?"

Hermione shook her head, then, unexpectedly, a desperate sob escaped her lips. Harry stared at her, while she started to shake and cry in a heartbreaking way. He didn't know what to do or say, didn't think for even a second to get closer to her. He was petrified with embarrassment and fear that her cover could have slipped down from her chest, but she was holding it firmly and he knew that she would have never let that happen. Even if her hands was torn away from the edge of the cover, she would have held it with her teeth rather than let it fall down in front of him.

"Hermione?" he called, but it was just a bare whisper and she didn't even hear it. He cleared his throat, hoping to capture her attention. "Hermione," he called a bit louder.

She raised her eyes, and looked at him, still crying.

"Hermione, Ron is gonna hear you," he whispered frantically.

Hermione sniffled and another louder sob escaped her lips. Evidently she didn't care if Ron heard her and if he came downstairs and saw the two of them half naked in the living room. She was well beyond caring at that moment, and Harry could understand her perfectly well. He really didn't mind if Ron would have climbed down the stairs at that very moment too, he was so sure to have done nothing at all with Hermione that he felt ready to turn down every accusation Ron would have made.

Even if we were both lying half naked under a cover in the living room, that doesn't mean anything, he thought. Then, the fact that he didn't remember how he had got there; that he couldn't remember anything at all of the past night and that Hermione was crying, made a shiver run down his spine.

"Hermione?" he called awkwardly for the third time.

She looked at him and sniffled again.

"What happened?" he asked, and all of a sudden he knew that it was such a stupid question that he wouldn't have been surprised if she would have burst into laughter.

But she didn't. She just wiped away some tears from her face, and took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. "I don't know," she answered.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Then what are you crying for?" he asked bewildered.

Hermione stood a little bit more up, and leaned her back against the coffee table, looking at Harry with a shocked expression. "Harry," she murmured. "We were lying half naked under a cover in the living room, what do you think it happened?"

Harry gulped. "I don't remember anything," he admitted.

"I don't remember as well, but it's - it's clear," she whispered, her cheeks suddenly the colour of the fire.

"It's not," replied Harry, trying to sound firm. "It's not."

"What - what do you think happened, then?" she asked weakly.

Harry frowned. What do I think happened? That's a smart question, Hermione. "I-I don't know."

"Harry we--"

"No we didn't!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows and looked at him with a concerned look. "I was going to say that we should dress," she muttered.

Now it was Harry's time to blush. "Oh," he murmured. "Oh, sure. I thought - I think I'll wear my - have you seen my pyjamas?" He stood up from the couch and looked around, but there were no clothes or pyjamas in sight in the living room.

Hermione grabbed the edge of the coffee table and stood up as well, tightening the cover around her chest. She gave a look around as well, but she didn't spot anything. Just some of the cushions that lay on the floor instead of the couch, as if someone had thrown them down. And they both had a vague idea of who could have done that. They flushed again.

"Where the hell are they?" Harry hissed under his breath.

"I don't know, it seems like they are nowhere in sight. We didn't make them disappear, did we?" asked Hermione worryingly.

"Why should we have?" asked Harry without understanding.

"I don't know. Why were we lying on the couch?" asked Hermione desperately.

Harry looked away from her, stubbornly searching for the clothes all around that place, but after a couple of minutes he had to surrender to the evidence that they weren't in the living room. "We couldn't possibly have walked naked through the house, could we? I mean somebody should have seen us."

"And who tells you that nobody has seen us?" asked Hermione frantically.

Harry turned towards her and seized her bare upper arms with his hands. He bent a little for watching her into her eyes, and took a deep breath. "Hermione, we don't remember what happened, maybe it's because nothing happened at all."

"Harry something must have happened, or how do you explain that?" she asked, jerking her chin towards the couch. "And this?" She fingered at her and then at him.

"Maybe someone has charmed us," suggested Harry slowly.

"A Memory Charm?" she asked, unconvinced. "And who should have cast it?"

Harry looked over her shoulder, lost in thoughts. Who could have cast a Memory Charm on them? And what was the point of setting them on the couch half naked and then charm their memories? Maybe because whoever did that wanted to catch them together, and then - then what? Harry couldn't understand what the aim of that whole thing was. If there's an aim at all. Still, he was sure that he hadn't done anything at all with his best friend, but that conviction was starting to shatter a bit while he held her so close to him.

"Harry?"

He looked at her, and flushed. "What?"

"Who could've cast the charm?" she repeated patiently.

"Malfoy?" he suggested.

"Malfoy can't even stand up from the bed, and-" She narrowed her eyes. "-now that I think about it, he doesn't even have his wand."

"He had his wand when he attacked you," pointed out Harry.

"I know, but he doesn't have it now."

"Maybe it's still out there," said Harry, nodding towards the window.

"Maybe," conceded Hermione. "Then who? Ron?"

"Don't be silly Hermione," Harry replied, but his voice shook while he talked.

Hermione lowered her eyes on her hands which were still holding the cover, and Harry felt her muscles moving under his fingers, noticing only at that very moment that he was still holding her. He let her go slowly, making his hands slide down her sides.

"I'm afraid of Ron," she murmured so softly that Harry had to stop breathing to hear the end of her sentence.

"What?" he asked incredulously. "You're afraid of Ron?"

Hermione nodded and lowered her eyes. "He scares me."

"Because of your reaction yesterday?"

"No - not only that, at least. He's strange lately, isn't he?" she asked softly.

Harry eyed her, trying to keep his face unreadable, but he couldn't do that for a long time and for a moment some concern appeared on his features. "Strange?" he asked, pretending not to understand her. But she was right, and he knew that. Ron's behaviour was strange, and he couldn't deny it. He felt almost awkward when he stood next to him, and it felt like he didn't know his best friend anymore. It was only a couple of days before that he used to laugh with him.

Harry felt towards Ron, almost what he used to feel towards Dean when he was still dating Ginny back that year. Harry used to treat Dean with a cold gentleness, while in his mind flashed imagines of him kissing Ginny desperately. Hermione, he thought so softly that he wasn't even sure if he had actually thought of her or not. Harry bit his bottom lip, and for a moment he understood that his awkwardness towards Ron didn't start because of Ron's behaviour.

"Hermione, I have to tell you something." He looked at her seriously and took a deep breath, as if it was difficult for him to speak about whatever he was going to talk about.

"Yes?" asked Hermione, not at all assured by his tone.

"Hermione, I-I've had dreams," he stammered. "Or better, I'm having dreams about..." But his sentence trailed away when he noticed Hermione going completely white. She was looking at some point above his shoulder and Harry feared that Ron was watching them, but when he turned there was nobody there. "What?" he asked, turning again towards her.

Hermione looked at him questioningly. "What - what? You were talking," she said gently, regaining some of her colour.

"But you looked above my shoulder and I thought you saw something," said Harry. "And you paled as well, as if--"

"Harry, it's because I've had dreams too," she cut him off frantically.

"What kind of dreams?" asked Harry suspiciously.

"You? What kind of dreams are you having?" she asked back, not so keen to talk about that subject.

"Embarrassing ones," muttered Harry, and his cheeks coloured again.

"Me too," said Hermione.

"You mean we had the same dreams?"

"You still didn't tell me what you dreamed," pointed out Hermione.

"Right," sighed Harry. "But can't you just imagine? It's very embarrassing."

"No, I can't, but maybe I can help," said Hermione, trying to smile a little. "I was there." Harry nodded. "And you were there too." He nodded again. "Okay, and we were--"

Harry pressed a hand on her mouth, cutting her sentence off. He nodded. "Yes, we were," he said, blushing furiously. "We were and we enjoyed that a lot. But then there was something else, something even more embarrassing, something that you'll never imagine and that I'll never tell you, not even under torture." He released her mouth.

"Were your parents there?" she asked softly.

Harry looked at her, while his jaw dropped. He backed up a little and sat on the couch, from where he looked at Hermione with his eyes wide. "How do you know?" he murmured.

"I've dreamed them too; and Harry, I'm so embarrassed, you can't even imagine how uncomfortable I am right now," she said, looking everywhere but at him.

"How long have you gone on with these dreams?" asked Harry, seizing her wrist to capture her complete attention.

Hermione looked up at him. "Just since we're here, I swear!" she said in a shaken tone of voice.

"Me too," answered Harry. He looked at her. "But when I dream about my parents I dream that I'm father and there's my mother there and..." His sentence died in his throat as the embarrassment resurfaced on his face.

"I dreamed that I was your mother instead, and--" She looked at him, frowning. "Do you think that we are having those dreams at the same time?" she asked unexpectedly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that maybe we aren't only dreaming the same things, perhaps we are having the same dreams," she explained rather cryptically.

"Sorry, I can't follow you," murmured Harry.

Hermione freed her wrist from his hand and sat down next to him, her embarrassment of being half naked next to him almost completely gone as she started to illustrate her own theory. "I mean that maybe we aren't simply having similar dreams, we aren't just dreaming about the same thing. Very likely it's exactly the same dream we have, I mean, while I dream of you, you dream of me, and we kind of meet in that dream, and--"

"Hermione, even if we do have the same dreams, what's the point in all this? And how did this start? I mean, it's six years that we have known each other, and I've never thought about you as more than a friend, and I don't think that you've ever seen me differently as well, but now all of a sudden, I can't stop thinking of you, I dream of you and I kiss you," he spoke so quickly that he barely understood himself. Hermione though seemed to understand pretty well, because she blushed.

"Harry, I think of you too, but that's not right," she whispered, twisting her hands in her lap. "It's not right."

Harry took her hands in his own, he lowered his voice and said, "Hermione, what if we are falling for each other?"

Hermione raised her eyes and met his. She hadn't thought even for a mere second about that possibility, and now that Harry mentioned it, it seemed so natural, so obvious that she couldn't believe she hadn't even taken it into consideration. Was she really falling for Harry? How was that possible? She thought she knew what she wanted and she thought she wanted to be with Ron, but now her world came shattering down on her shoulders, as she couldn't even recognize her own feelings.

She jerked her hands away from his and looked away. "No," she murmured. "No, it can't be."

Harry placed a hand on her cheek and made her turn her head again. "Why not?" he asked softly.

"I know how it is to fall in love, and it's not like this," she answered.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry rather deluded that his pleasant theory was so quickly turned down.

"I mean that this is unnatural, it happened all so quickly, and--"

"Quickly? Hermione, what don't you understand of the 'we have known each other for six years' part?"

Hermione blushed. "I mean that from a day to another we have fallen in love, Harry," she murmured. "That's not normal."

"Maybe it's love at first sight," said Harry tentatively.

"Harry."

"Okay, I was just trying to explain. Would it be so bad if you were seriously falling for me?" he asked bitterly.

Hermione bit her bottom lip, why was he torturing her so badly? I don't want to answer him, don't want and surely I'm not going to, she thought forcefully. First of all because I don't know what to answer him, and that's very annoying, and secondly because if I say that it's a bad thing to feel something for Harry I know that it will be a lie, but at the same time I'm afraid to admit even to myself that I'm actually falling in love with him.

"Hermione?" Harry snapped her out of her thoughts.

"No, it wouldn't be bad," she answered, surprising herself as much as him. "But, Harry, it's just not true. It must be a charm or something."

"Why? Why it couldn't be just love?" asked Harry frantically.

Hermione placed a hand on his leg, and that sent shivers up his back, and, unfortunately had the same effect on Hermione as well. She took it away and blushed. "Because love doesn't work like this."

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. "And you're an expert, aren't you? How many boyfriends have you had? One and a half? Because you can't really say that McLaggen has been your boyfriend, can you? It just lasted one evening. And what about Krum? That Bon-bon which really has nothing [Author ID1: at Tue Jan 9 23:24:00 2007 ]pleasant on his--" He stopped his angry flown of words by placing both his hands on his mouth. He looked at Hermione with wide eyes and murmured, "Was I just sounding like Ron?"

Hermione nodded sadly.

"I-I can't--, I mean, it's clear that Ron is madly in love with you." And while he said that he felt his anger boil. "And that's why he talks like this, but I - Hermione I must be in love with you, although I don't really know how to explain all this."

Hermione nodded gently. "Do you think that I don't get mad when I think of Ginny?" she demanded, causing Harry to gasp. "But Harry, you didn't even wait for my answers. I fell in love with Viktor, or so I think, and it was different. It was like a pleasant walk downhill towards a lake, and the closer you got to the glen the better the surroundings were. You could feel butterflies in your stomach and--"

"And who tells you that that was love, while this isn't? Who doesn't tell you that this is love, while the other thing you felt for Krum was just a crush? The crush of a fourteen-year-old girl towards a famous older wizard," replied Harry.

Hermione looked away from him; her convictions shattered. He was right. What made her so sure to be able to recognize her feelings? If that was not love, what could it have been? A charm, a charm, a charm, she kept on repeating in her head. But that possibility was slowly fading, like a dream that appears clearly in your mind when you wake up, but then it slowly grows fainter in your memory, and she felt her protests became less and less concrete every time she opened her mouth.

She stood up from the couch. "I think I'll go put some clothes on," she murmured.

Harry stood up as well and seized her arm. "And you want to go into the same room with Draco Malfoy with only this to cover you?" he asked, eyeing her.

Hermione flushed. "No."

"I'll go and get something for you," he offered.

And my embarrassment will be complete when you'll look at my underwear and pick up a bra for me, she thought, blushing furiously.

"What do you want?" he asked her.

"I think a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and..."

"Yes?"

"A bra," she said so quietly that Harry had to bend over her to hear, and when he understood he blushed as well.

"W-where can I find all these things?"

"In the wardrobe in the middle, I put all my clothes in there," she explained.

Harry nodded, and without adding anything else, he turned and walked up the stairs towards the second floor. But as she looked at him, Hermione saw him stopping half way towards the landing, bending and picking something from the floor. When he turned, Hermione saw that he was holding her bra between his fingers, touching it as little as he could without making it fall. He climbed back down those few stairs he had already taken, and handed it to her.

"Was it on the stairs?" she asked. She already knew, but just wanted to say something to avoid an embarrassing silence falling over them.

Harry nodded, but didn't answer. And Hermione thought he wasn't much help.

"I'll put it on," she murmured, lowering her eyes.

Harry nodded dumbly and stared at her.

Hermione bit her bottom lip. "Would you please turn?" she asked after a while.

"Oh," muttered Harry, turning. "Oh, of course. I'm sorry." He heard something falling softly to the floor, and imagined that the cover that had been wrapped around her torso was now hanging at her feet. Then he waited for some sound coming from the clip of the bra, but it never reached his ears, instead the brush of the cover against her skin was quite audible.

"I'm done," she whispered. "You can turn."

When he turn there was nothing different in her figure except for the strips of the bra now visible on her shoulders.

"I think that we're going to find something else up there." She nodded towards the landing. "Better if we get a move, the sun is already high in the sky and I'm sure that Ron won't sleep forever."

Harry nodded and, turning, he started to climb the stairs two at a time. Hermione was right, their pyjamas were up there. They lay on the floor as if they had thrown them away carelessly, maybe too busy in discovering what they hid to even notice that the floor wasn't the cleanest of places to throw the pyjamas. Well, they were noticing it now as they picked them up and looked at the dust all over them.

"I thought the floor was cleaned," said Harry, and Hermione almost felt relieved that his tone was a bit accusatory and not awkward.

"I cleaned it, but that was three days ago. We should clean up again," she hissed back, relieved that she was feeling a little less embarrassment than before.

"Clean up again? I can't take it," murmured Harry.

"Yeah, why, how long did it take you? Ten minutes at the most? Poor boy, it was too stressful for you, wasn't it?" she asked mockingly.

Harry glared at her, but didn't reply. Too afraid of being heard by Ron to start a discussion with her. "Just dress, I'll do the same, and then - then you'll go to your room and have a look at Malfoy, and I'll go see Ron. Try to see if he had heard anything at all tonight, but don't be too specific. I don't want Ron to know what happened, and I especially don't want Malfoy to be the one to tell him."

"He wouldn't tell him," murmured Hermione, flushing and looking down at her pyjamas.

Harry looked at her unconvinced. "How do you know?" he asked sceptically.

"He didn't tell him about the hickey," she answered.

"Because he thinks it's a bruise, doesn't he?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, he doesn't. He knows that it's a hickey. He knew it even before I did, he pointed it out."

"And he didn't tell Ron?" asked Harry suspiciously.

"No, he swore he wouldn't have told him," muttered Hermione.

"And what exactly made you believe him?" His tone was as cold as the wind that was blowing outside these days.

"He didn't tell him," pointed out Hermione.

"He's waiting for the right moment, evidently. Hermione, how could you have been so incautious Why don't you tell him all your private life next time then?" asked Harry bitterly.

He looked at her and she narrowed her green eyes, while a flash of anger made them sparkle. Green eyes? Harry shook his head, why every time he looked at her in a moment thick of emotion he thought that she had green eyes? He had green eyes, he and only he.

"I was inconsiderate? You left me a hickey, how do you call this if not inconsiderate?" she snapped, her voice gradually raising.

[Author ID1: at Tue Jan 9 23:46:00 2007 ]

"Lower your voice!" hissed Harry frantically. "Ron will hear you!"

Hermione bit her bottom lip, knowing that she had been a bit carried away. She couldn't understand why she was defending Draco. Maybe it's because he's mean, she thought, like he's always been, and that means that he's the only one here who hasn't changed. That thought gave her an odd feeling of calm. If I don't know my friends anymore, at least I still know my enemy.

"Turn. I'm going to wear put on my pyjamas," she murmured, lowering her eyes slightly. Harry turned and Hermione kept her eyes on his back while he covered it with his pyjamas, and smothered it. Then she put on her own pyjamas as well. "I'll go and ask Malfoy if he's seen something strange tonight."

"Like you and me having fun?" asked Harry hoarsely. "Don't be too direct!"

Hermione nodded curtly. "See you later?"

Harry nodded back, and she stared at him until he entered into the room he shared with Ron, then she turned and, taking a deep breath, she went into Draco's room.

"It took you long enough," hissed a deadly voice from the bed.

Hermione stopped in her track and looked at Draco, a slight and at the same time terrible fear invaded her mind. He was, if possibly, even paler than before, his chest raised and lowered quickly under the covers, and his breath was laboured and stiff. She took an uncertain step towards him, and placed the cover she was holding on the armchair.

"M-Malfoy?"

"Just give me the potion and leave me alone," he snapped with great difficulty.

"Wh-which potion?"

He looked at her, and very probably he was trying to understand if she was serious or not. "You are not funny, Granger. Just give me the potion and go," he repeated, while his white arm surfaced from the covers and he stretched it towards her.

Hermione bit her bottom lip and looked away from him, uneasily. "I don't have any potion with me," she barely whispered.

Draco's eyes became two slits. "What have you done until this very moment?" he asked suspiciously.

Hermione gulped. "What did I tell you before I went away?" she asked back, obviously trying to avoid giving him an answer.

Draco withdrew his arm and shot her a peculiar glance, his blond eyebrows linked together while some soft wrinkles formed on his forehead in his effort to think. Hermione hoped that he was trying to recollect what she told him the evening before, but she was almost sure Draco was searching for a sour retort to spit at her. She knew that he thought she was just making fun of him. She would have thought that herself.

"You said that you would brew me some more healing potion," he said abruptly, snapping her out of her thoughts. A soft sneer made Draco's lips curl. "But what were you actually doing?" he asked mockingly.

Hermione's cheeks flushed as she looked away.

"Something naughty with one of your boyfriends?" questioned Draco mischievously.

Hermione gasped and she took a step back, her head buzzing with a thousands nasty answers to give him, but her mouth dry as she felt a wave of sickness invading her body. Her eyes wandered for the room and for a spare second they met his, she wouldn't have bet on that, but she thought she saw a hint of delusion in his grey pools.

"Oh my God, you were really--"

"That's none of your business, Malfoy!" she shrieked, gripping the back of the armchair for support as she felt herself staggering.

"Was it Potty or Weasel?"

"Shut up!"

Draco opened his mouth, but he closed it almost immediately without letting a sound escape, strangely he didn't feel like teasing her. He let his eyelids fall on his eyes and waited for her to say something. Now that he didn't look around he could concentrate on the sounds that reached his ears and he heard her laboured breath, as if she was struggling to control it and keep it soft and regular.

"Didn't I say anything else?" she murmured after a while.

"What should you have told me?" he asked, keeping his eyes shut. "That you were going to--"

"Okay," she cut him off. "What potion did I tell you I would have brewed?"

"A healing one," he answered, opening his eyes and glancing at her.

Hermione nodded stiffly, she took a couple of steps back and reached for the handle with her right hand. Before she actually opened the door she lowered her eyes and, flushing, asked, "Did you hear anything?"

Draco sneered, but he shook his head. "No. Even if now that you told me what happened, I wish I did," he mocked.

As an answer Hermione blushed even more deeply and walked out of the room, closing the door at her back and leaning against it heavily. She gulped and closed her eyes. If Draco hadn't heard anything, then maybe nothing had happened. Anyway, Hermione wasn't sure about what kind of things he could have heard, and the very thought of Draco listening to her while she and Harry--No, Harry and I didn't do anything at all, she thought forcefully, hoping that repeating it would make it come true.

"Hermione, you all right?"

Her eyes opened wide in surprise when she heard Ron's voice so close to her ear. Her best friend was standing right in front of her, his shoulder slightly curved towards her, his eyes fixed on her face.

She took a deep breath and nodded softly. "Yes," she murmured. "I think so."

Ron smiled. He was wearing one of the jumpers Molly used to knit for her children for Christmas. This one was purple and with a big 'R' embroidered on it. It made him look like a young boy and for a moment Hermione was reminded of one of the many Christmases they have spent together at Hogwarts.

"Harry said that he moved to the couch because I disturbed him with all my snoring tonight," growled Ron, turning his shoulders and heading towards the stairs. "I disturbed him! As if he's always been quiet, he keeps on talking in his dreams." He turned and looked at Hermione, who hadn't moved from the door. The calm and honest nature of Ron's discourse startled her, as if she hasn't been ready for that, but rather to hear some screaming from him.

"Aren't you coming?" he asked her.

"Where?" she asked back rather dumbly.

"Downstairs," he answered, casting her a peculiar look. "I thought you wanted to have breakfast."

Hermione shook her head. She wasn't hungry. "I have to brew a healing Potion for Malfoy, though. He's not feeling well," she murmured.

Ron's eyes became suddenly cold. He turned towards the stairs and started to climb them down, without waiting for Hermione. She stared at his back as he walked away from her and for a second she felt as if she would have never seen him again. Hermione shook her head, feeling stupid. She entered into the bathroom, changing her pyjamas into the clothes that she had left there from the evening before. When she exited, she walked briskly towards Ron and Harry's room. The door was half-closed; Harry was sitting on the bed, staring in front of him with something in his hands. She knocked on the door and pushed it open wider without waiting for Harry to answer.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Hey," he answered back, raising his eyes on her. "How is Malfoy doing?"

"Bad," she murmured. "He needs some more healing potion."

Harry flushed. "Did he--"

"No," answered Hermione, cutting him off. "No, he didn't hear anything." She paused for a while. "Ron?"

"Same thing."

Hermione nodded, she lowered her eyes to what Harry held in his hands and stared. She stretched out an arm towards him, but before she could reach him, Harry tightened his fingers around it and withdrew. She looked automatically up at him and saw that he was staring back at her with a grave expression in his eyes.

"It was my mum's."

Hermione nodded. "I know."

Harry shook his head. "You can't know."

Hermione's cheeks coloured as she collapsed on the bed next to him. "Can I see it?"

"What for?" he asked rather rudely, without intending to do so.

"Just see it," she replied, shrugging.

He opened his fingers and showed his palm on which a small piece of parchment lay. Hermione looked at him before taking it from his hand, and when he didn't move she picked it up. It was folded four times, and when Hermione opened it, she saw the tidy and beautiful writing on the inside that she already knew so well. Lily had written only a word, quickly and with a pen instead of ink and quill as she used to do with her journal.

"Hufflepuff?" Hermione read it aloud with a questioning note in her voice, as if waiting for Harry to answer her doubts or resolve the mystery.

Harry nodded.

"Where did you find it?"

Harry jerked his chin toward the wardrobe, the same place where Hermione had found the diary two days before. She looked back at the paper in her hand and recognized it as a page from Lily's journal. Her heart started to beat furiously in her chest, as she felt a wave of guilt.

"What does it mean?" asked Harry slowly.

Hermione shrugged and shoved the parchment back into his hands. "I don't know. Maybe that Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor had a love story and they had lived here?" she asked.

Harry's lips curled into a soft smile. "Interesting theory."

"Thanks," she answered, feeling relieved that some of the embarrassment felt before had faded away. "Shall we go downstairs and have some breakfast?" Her appetite was back.

Harry nodded; he pocketed the parchment and followed her down the stairs.

***

Draco lowered his eyes to the small golden serpent that hung loosely around his neck. He tentatively brought his right hand to it, and raised it in front of his eyes, casting at its shape a longing glance. He couldn't believe that his master's suppositions could have been wrong, but he felt so weak, so tired, so powerless; as if he was soon going to die. He knew that he still had some time before the venom started to kill him, but the possibility that the calculations were all wrong started to consume him.

He let the pendant snake fall on his chest, he knew that he had to pay attention not to let too much time pass. If they - If Hermione Granger, he corrected himself - wasn't able to cure him, he should have used it. But if he used it, then how could he have explained what he did? Harry, Hermione and Ron would have surely questioned him until they found out the truth. And he couldn't have permitted it. First of all, because he still had some pride, and he didn't want to lose it; and secondly because that would have meant placing his schoolmates in danger. And, oddly, he didn't want that as well.

That stupid Granger, she thinks she's so damn intelligent, but she isn't. There aren't many poisons that can harm the human body as badly as this one, but maybe she already knows the cure, and she's enjoying playing the part of the little nurse. She thinks she can come here and smile and be all gentle and --Draco's thoughts were interrupted when the door crept open and Hermione entered with a smoking glass in her hands.

She walked slowly, paying lot of attention not to drop even the smallest part of potion on the floor, and while she was concentrated on the liquid Draco let out a relieved sigh, she was going to try something new, something that would have given Draco some more time. If she only knew...

"Almost time," he exclaimed impatiently. "I thought you would have let me die."

Hermione gasped softly on the glass, and raised her eyes for looking at him. "I would never let you die," she said firmly. Even if the temptation is really strong, sometimes, she silently added.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Should I thank you?" he asked rudely.

"I guess that's what normal people do." She glared at him. "But you aren't a normal person, are you?"

Draco sneered. "No, I'm not. I'm much better than all those normal people you know, Muggle-born."

Hermione placed the glass on the bedside-table. Her eyes lamping dangerously. There were two possibilities, either Draco was a real bastard, or he was truly stupid. Or both, she thought wearily. He doesn't really get the fact that I'm helping him, does he?

She seized the glass again and gave it to Draco, a firm expression on her face. Draco looked from the glass to Hermione, his head didn't lift from the pillow.

"Well?" snapped Hermione.

"Well - what?" he snapped back. "Can't you see that I can't even raise my head?"

Hermione bit her bottom lip, but she kept her eyes firmly on him. "Do you need help?" she asked unsurely.

"What do you think?" hissed Draco.

Hermione bit her tongue and swallowed the words she would have loved to scream at him. This was not the right day for Malfoy to start acting like a brat even more spoiled than usual. She had no patience left, even though it was only morning; but the situation in which she found herself from her very awakening had already frayed her nerves greatly.

Hermione mentally counted to ten and took a deep breath. Then she rounded on Draco, making her right hand pass under his head. She tangled her fingers in his soft hair and pressed gently upwards, helping him.

"Be careful!" he snapped. "It hurts."

She rolled her eyes and without giving him an answer, she brought the glass to his lips. Forcing him into swallowing most of the amber liquid. The moment he felt the stinging liquid flowing down his throat, Draco opened his eyes wide, he pushed away her hand with his own and coughed, spitting out the potion all over the covers. Hermione let his head fall back on the pillow unceremoniously, and looked at him patiently, waiting for his coughs to fade away.

"Are you alright?" she asked slightly concerned.

"Of course I'm not, Granger," he answered venomously.

"You need to drink some more of this potion," she replied curtly.

"You'll have to force it down my throat, because I won't be able to swallow anything else for the rest of my life," he murmured. "That thing's terrible."

"It's not exactly pumpkin juice, but there's no need to make a fuss about it," she answered, her lips curving in a soft and almost amused smile. "You have to finish the potion."

"Leave it on the table, I'll drink it later," he answered slowly.

Hermione eyed him suspiciously, but then she put down the glass. "Drink it," she repeated.

"I've always drunk your stupid potions, Granger, haven't I?" he snapped annoyed. "You've always found the empty glasses on my bedside-table, haven't you?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and, against her will, she had to admit with herself that he was right, she had always found the empty glasses on the bedside-table when she had left him potions to take. Anyway she didn't know why, but she didn't trust him completely, as if he asked for antidotes and potions just to throw them away when she wasn't looking. Or maybe it's just me the one that is losing her hopes, after only a couple of days trying. Maybe I'm the one that isn't good enough to save a human life.

She raised her eyes on Draco, and nodded. "I'll be back in a couple of hours, do you want something for breakfast?"

"Oh, I can have breakfast now?" he asked mockingly.

She twisted her hands. "If you ask for something that we have bought when we went to the supermarket, although I can always go..."

"You are lucky, Granger, I don't feel like eat anything at all," he snapped, but not as rudely as his Malfoy-ish way would have requested.

"You should eat something," insisted Hermione.

"Thanks, Granger. I should eat something, I should drink these potions, I should rest... something else?"

"You should shut up," suggested Hermione.

Draco smirked. "Thanks."

Hermione walked towards the door, she pushed the handle and opened it. "Just try to get well soon, okay?" she asked, placing a foot on the landing.

Draco looked at her, taken a bit aback, but recovered almost immediately. "Worried about me, are you, Granger?"

Hermione looked at him firmly. "No, I just want my sheets back," she answered curtly. And before Draco had the time to answer something nasty, the door closed behind her.

Hermione climbed slowly down the stairs that led into the living room. Her eyes wandered around the house as she tried to recollect all the events that had occurred to her since that very morning, when she woke up half naked and absolutely unaware of what had happened during the night. But, strangely enough, that was not the thing that worried her most at that moment. No, there was something else; and that something answered to the name of Ron. What's wrong with him? Why was he so nice this morning? Yesterday I thought that he wouldn't have spoken to me anymore, and this morning it was like nothing at all had happened. How could he--Hermione's thoughts were interrupted when she reached the first floor, Harry stood right in front of her, so still that he could have been petrified. When he saw her, his index finger flew to his mouth, gesturing her to be quiet and listen.

Hermione looked at him inquiringly, but nodded as she stood as still as him. At the beginning she didn't hear anything at all. The house seemed just as quiet and peaceful as she has always perceived it. But both her and Harry were standing so immobile that slowly the smallest and usually imperceptible sounds typical of the old houses started to reach her ears. Water that dropped from the roof, wind that passed through an open window, the cracking of the walls, rats in the cellar.

Rats? She had never heard rats do that kind of noises. Instead of the quick and soft scratch typical of the small mammal, there were some hits on hard rock, broken by steps and stiff breaths, and then some louder bangs, as if someone was trying to shatter a door.

Hermione looked at Harry apprehensively. "What--?"

Harry silenced her with a glance. He took out the wand from his pocket and nodded towards the door. "There's an entrance to the cellar in the back lawn," he whispered simply, starting to walk towards the kitchen.

Hermione would have wanted to ask him how he knew about the access to the cellar from the garden, but she didn't. She knew that he wouldn't have been able to provide her any kind of explanation, since she too knew exactly where that entrance lay without having seen it once.

Taking a deep breath, she took out her wand and followed Harry, under the pale rays of the August sun.