Vita Labyrinthae Similis In Quo Umbrae Vagamus

CHAPTER 12

I still have my name

--Iris—

"Are you staying over the break?" Harry asked Ron at breakfast; both of them were eating absentmindedly while reading enormous heavy books and trying to take notes at the same time. Ron paused, chewing, before looking up.

"Nah," he said, "my parents are taking us off to Egypt to see Bill. Dad just got a kick-back from the Ministry for something to do with the Malfoys' death, so we've got a little extra money. You?"

"The alternative is Privet Drive," said Harry mildly. "I think I'll stay."

"What about Hermione? Is she getting better?"

"I don't know," Harry told him, looking up from the scrawled lines of his Arithmancy notes. "I really don't know what's going on with her. It's weird, Ron."

"I can't believe she's in any danger," Ron said meditatively. "I mean, what with Dumbledore being here, and everything."

"I hope so." Harry shovelled a forkful of eggs into his mouth, trying to think about fourteen or fifteen things at once. "Man, I wish she was here right now, though. I could use her notes to study instead of this crap."

"Yeah, and she could tell me what the History of Magic book says so I don't have to read it myself." Ron snorted. "Guess we're going to have to pass exams all on our own this time around."

"At least the whole Potions syllabus got screwed up when Snape was ill," Harry pointed out. "We don't have to know half the stuff he was going to cover."
"I wouldn't be too sure," said Fred Weasley, sliding down the bench. "Snape's got a nasty way of adding requirements when he's sure you're not looking."

"Don't tell me things like that," said Harry irritably. "It's hard enough to face the concept of end-of-term exams as it is."

Fred grinned. "Have a Cheering Cream, they're brand new. Make you feel all happy inside."

Harry regarded him with deep suspicion. "Fred, five and a half years of your company have taught me never, ever to eat anything you give me."

Fred gave him a look of mock offense. "Fine, if that's the way you feel about it," he sniffed, and looked around for an easier mark. "Longbottom, how're you doing?"

Harry sighed and reimmersed himself in Arithmancy, vaguely aware of the howls of mirth as whatever Cheering Creams did was demonstrated. He was worried about Hermione, not just because she wasn't studying for the tests, but because she seemed to be wasting away. Perhaps he'd be able to find out what was wrong over the Christmas break. She wouldn't be going home, not if her condition didn't improve.

Snape's classes hadn't seemed quite as painful as normal. He desperately hoped Fred was wrong, and Snape wasn't planning some horrible last-minute addition to the syllabus for them to study, but he didn't seem to be particularly unpleasant even to Harry, and he didn't look very secretive. Defense against the Dark Arts had moved from theory to practicum, and Harry was fairly confident in his ability to cast a variety of wards against dark magic. The rest of the subjects weren't exactly difficult, but time-consuming. There was simply a great deal to memorize.

Absently he moved further down the table as somebody started throwing croissants about, in a lighthearted sort of way.

"Granger!"

Hermione was a long way away, somewhere very comfortable and very dark, and had no intention of moving. The voice came closer. "Granger, wake up." Somebody was shaking her.

"Sod off, Professor Flitwick," she murmured sleepily. "I said I'd hand in that essay next week."

"Granger," said the voice, and now it held a definite tint of amusement, "if you don't wake up I am going to tip the entire contents of your water jug over your head."

"You wouldn't dare," she muttered, but opened a cautious eye anyway. A slender figure, silhouetted by the flat light of a snowy day, was bending over her. She jerked awake entirely of a sudden as the events of the past twenty-four hours flooded back into her memory. "Malfoy," she said.

Draco gave her a look. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, wrapped in a dressing gown several sizes too big for him, which made him look rather like a ferret in a tent. He still looked far too thin and almost translucently pale, but she noted with a sudden shock of happiness that his eyes were once more fully and completely alive, and gleaming gently with that sardonic amusement she was so familiar with. "Very good, Granger," he said. "Full marks for observation."

"What are you doing out of bed?" she demanded.

"I've got some very important information to impart to you."

"Oh yes?" she asked, hugging her knees. The feeling of his arms around her still tingled in her skin. He nodded.

"You may not have realized this," he said, "but end-of-term exams are next week."

Hermione's entire body stiffened. "What?"

"You heard me. And we've both missed at least three weeks of classes, and haven't been studying. This isn't good."

"Oh, my God," she said to herself. "How could I have let it go this long? Oh my God I'm going to fail everything..." Her stomach seemed to have dropped down through the bed to the floor below. Malfoy sighed.

"No you're not," he told her, "because you're going to study with me. That is, you and I are going to study together. But one of us has to go and get some of the books and notes and so on, and since I can barely walk across the ward without falling over, I think it's going to have to be you."

She stared at him. "I," she said stupidly. "Yes of course. I. You. Study."

"You're dangerously close to being cute," he said acidly. "You might want to avoid that. Come on, Granger, get that famous brain of yours in gear."

"Sorry," she said, managing to get some of her thoughts to behave. "Right. I've got most of the set texts, but we're going to need a lot more books and some of the other kids' notes for the weeks we've missed. Crap." She frowned thoughtfully at the bedclothes.

"What is it?"

"I was just thinking. We're the only ones that people borrow notes from. Who else takes good notes?"

"I wouldn't know," said Draco. "Parkinson spends her class time drawing little hearts in the margin of her notes, and Crabbe and Goyle don't take notes unless Snape's standing over them. What about your lot? Surely Gryffindor's got at least one other know-it-all."

"I don't know," said Hermione, "I was rather under the impression I was the whole school's know-it-all."

"Hey," he said. "You may be first in the class, but I'm second, okay? Now go and get the books. If you ask the professors nicely they might give you some outlines of the lectures we missed."

She sighed. "Draco?"

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just...sort of nice to see you giving orders again, instead of lying there like a depressed lump."

"Oh, I'm still a depressed lump," he said levelly. "Just one that doesn't want to fail every single subject for the fall term."

"I see." She swung her legs out of bed, stood up stiffly. "Study party in the hospital wing. Woo."

He gave her a long cool look. "Control yourself, Granger."

"I'll try. The hysterical excitement, you know. It's a bit overwhelming." She looked around. "Um...do you mind going away while I put on my real clothes?"

"I would," he said simply, "but I'm afraid I don't think I can get up." She stared at him, and he merely gave her a little rueful smile. With a sigh, Hermione bent over, slid his arm around her neck, and pulled him to his feet. He leaned heavily on her all the way back to his own room, and flopped bonelessly onto the bed. "Sorry about that," he told her, embarrassed. "I was all right walking over there. I must be weaker than I thought."

"It's all right," she told him. "I'll be back as soon as I can. It might take a while to scour the castle for all the books we need."

He waved a limp hand at her. "I have faith in your abilities," he said mildly. "Bring parchment and quills, too. And ink. And a lot of Butterbeer."

"Riiight," she said, nodding. "I'll see what I can do."

She dressed hurriedly. Madame Pomfrey, roused by the conversation, poked her head out of her office as Hermione hurried past. "Miss Granger?" she inquired. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I've got to get my books," she said. "Malfoy and I are really behind and we've got to study if we're going to pass any of our subjects." She shrugged. "Classes are almost over for the term. Malfoy can't leave the hospital wing, and we're both at the same place in our studies, so it makes sense for us to work together." She realized she was babbling, and stopped. Madame Pomfrey was regarding her with a sort of bright-eyed seriousness, and suddenly she realized the nurse was trying not to smile.

"Very well," she said, her voice almost serious. "But be sure you don't tire yourself or Mr Malfoy. Your health is more important than exams."

"Of course," Hermione agreed, secretly thinking the exact opposite, and hurried off down the hall to the staircases.

Some time, and at least one circuit of the castle, later she knocked on the door of Snape's office for the second time that year. The second time ever, actually, she thought. Her arms were full of books, and her bag weighed her right shoulder down with the weight of more books. Snape's voice said "Enter," and she shifted Transfiguration and Arithmancy to her other arm and pushed open the door with her elbow. Snape, at his desk, looked up and saw her, and a series of emotions flickered extremely fast through his eyes. He stood up hurriedly and came forward to take some of the books from her, pulled over a chair. "Sit," he commanded. She sat, hardly able to comprehend how...nice...he was being.

"Thank you," she said weakly. "Um, Professor, I know I'm really behind in your class, and I was wondering if you had a revised copy of the syllabus with what's going to be on the exam."

Snape looked blankly at her. "Miss Granger," he said. "I'm astonished to see you out of the infirmary at all, let alone concerned about exams. When I last saw you, Madame Pomfrey wouldn't have let you out of bed without a fight. What's happened?"

She felt a strong urge to say I got better, but suppressed it. "It's Malfoy, Professor."

His eyes widened suddenly and he coughed, muffling it behind his fist. "Excuse me," he said when he had his breath back. "What about Malfoy?"

"He's back. Still awfully weak, but he woke me up this morning and demanded that I go and get the books for all our classes so that we could try and memorize all the stuff we've missed over the past month or so."

Snape was staring at her. "How?"

She looked down at her knees, unsure of what to tell him, and then remembered the look of dull hurt in his eyes when they'd shared this same room before, watching Draco Malfoy die, and knew that he deserved the truth. That much at least. "Last night," she said quietly, "I woke up in the middle of the night for no good reason, and saw light behind his door. I knocked, but there was no answer, and I used Alohomora on the lock and found him with a scalpel." She looked up at Snape, who'd gone white again and was trying not to cough, and back down at her lap. "He'd only managed to slice one of his wrists, and he'd only nicked one of the veins in that, but there was a great deal of blood nonetheless. I took away the scalpel, and then I sort of lost my head and screamed at him for a while, and he eventually started to scream back, and then he just snapped and started crying. I knew he was back, really back, when he asked me to mend his wrists." She paused, returned her gaze to the safe ground of the top of Snape's desk. After a moment she risked a glance at him, and swallowed hard in shock at what she saw.

She had never, in all her time at Hogwarts, seen that particular expression on Snape's face. It wasn't something she associated with him....that she even considered him capable of. It was gratitude. Pure and unalloyed admiring gratitude. He stared at her as if she'd just told him she had personally destroyed Voldemort as a favour to the school, and held out a shaking hand to her. "Miss Granger," he said, his voice low and rather rough, "you have achieved what not I, nor Professor Serenskaya, nor Madame Pomfrey, nor even Dumbledore could do. We saved his body, you and I and Nastasya. You have saved his soul, if any of us can be said to have a soul. You've brought him back. Thank you, Hermione."

She stared at his outstretched hand, hearing her given name echo in his silky voice, and reached out her own to take it. He squeezed her hand tightly, tersely, as he might do to a colleague, and let her go. The silence in the dungeon was companionable, suddenly. She found she no longer hated Severus Snape, not a little tiny bit.

"So," she said in a small voice, after a while. "About the syllabus?"

"Ah," he said. "Right." He rummaged in a drawer, brought out a huge stack of parchment. "The last few weeks have been rather disorganized. The basic syllabus would have run through uses of taxol and digitalin, primary and secondary silicate reagents, historical use of ground gems in poisons, snakevenom-derived poisons and the methods of distilling antidotes, and the development of stamina-increasing tinctures like the Puissance Potion, but since the term was interrupted by my indisposition and the substitution of Professor Serenskaya, I'm simplifying things. Fibrillia Potions aren't going to be on the test, nor are most of the snakevenom poisons...oh, here, let me just write you down a study guide. And don't tell anyone else in the entire school I've done this, because they'll all want one. I'm only doing this because you're an excellent student and you deserve a break." He said all this in rather a rush, as if the words were unfamiliar and not entirely welcome.

Hermione desperately wished she could preserve this moment in time, encapsulate it in glass or seal it into a crystal so that she could take it out again over and over and hear Snape giving her credit for her academic skill. The preceding moment where he'd thanked her for stopping Draco's suicide attempt was a pretty good memory, too.

He was scribbling down a list of topics on a piece of parchment in his trademark green ink. Had he always been like this, she wondered, or was it Professor Serenskaya that had changed him? Or had she merely encouraged him to be what he was?

Draco, too, had changed. That was much, much more understandable. He'd gone through a great deal.

She found herself wondering exactly what Snape's past had been like, but her train of thought derailed itself neatly as he pushed the piece of parchment across the desk to her and started hunting through his bookcases. "This should be useful to you," he said, extracting a slim volume bound in dark green sharkskin, "and this," a larger red codex, "and, ah, this one is particularly helpful." Moste Potente Potions thumped onto the desk with the others. She had to laugh at the memory of her second-year subterfuge required to get that particular book out of the restricted section. Snape arched an eyebrow at her merriment, but asked no questions. Rather, he looked at the huge stack of books already piled on his desk and spilling out of her bag, and back at her. "Er," he said. "You might need some help carrying those."

"Professor," said Hermione, quietly, "are you feeling all right?"

He stared at her. "Yes, fine, why?"

"You're acting sort of strange," she said. The familiar cold look flickered over his face and for a moment she was afraid she'd offended him...which she really, really didn't want to do....but he gave her a little smile.

"I'm not being thoroughly objectionable to you, you mean," he said wryly. "Yes, I am slipping a bit, aren't I?"

"I'm not complaining," she said quickly.

"No. I know. I'm aware of how I normally seem, and it's not, as you may have thought, entirely unintentional and caused by my horrible personality." Hermione went pink and transferred her gaze to the books in her hands. "There is a reason why I act the way I do, but it's complicated and would take a very long time to explain. Suffice it to say that I see no reason to treat you with anything other than common courtesy and respect, since you seem to keep on proving how worthy of that respect you are. I apologize that I can't treat everyone this way, but I assure you it's necessary." His eyes had gone hooded and distant again. Hermione sighed.

"I'm sorry, Professor. It's none of my business."

"No, it's not," he agreed. "Never mind. Just...remember, Hermione, that you have my gratitude. Not many people have won that."

She felt absurdly honored, and tried to cover up the flush by busying herself with books. "Thank you," she said. Snape laughed a little.

"Now I've embarrassed you. I ought to go back to being predictable and nasty. Oh, well, it'll have to wait until I've escorted you back to the hospital wing. I want a word with Draco, and there's no way you can carry all that lot yourself, no matter how clever you may be."

She looked at him, and couldn't quite hide the small smile that tugged at her mouth. "Okay," she said, and he led the way up to the hospital wing.

Madame Pomfrey met them at the door, the look of barely suppressed happiness still on her face. "Severus," she said, "it's amazing. He's read through all the notes Miss Granger had been studying and has been cursing volubly for the past half hour because he's too weak to get up and go search for more."

"Well," said Snape, nodding at his armsful of books, "we've brought him lots of thoroughly exciting reading material....let's see, Effects of standardization on cauldron thicknesses under the reign of Baldric the Insufferable....oh, dear, Binns hasn't improved.... Advanced Transfiguration.....Limits and Differentials in Magius Set Theory...."

"Oh, stop," said Madame Pomfrey, looking sour. "I remember Arithmancy. Horrible subject, that was. At least this lot has Vector. You and I had Murgatroyd."

"Don't remind me," said Snape. "Anyway, is Malfoy up to visitors?"

"He seems to think so."

Hermione tactfully hung back as Snape went into Draco's room, and sat down on the end of an empty bed. Madame Pomfrey looked at her thoughtfully.

"You did an excellent job with his wrists," she said. Hermione stiffened.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't be silly, Hermione," said the nurse matter-of-factly. "First, and most obvious, you didn't remember to get rid of the scalpel. Second, you didn't get all the bloodstains out of the bedclothes. And third, even if those weren't convincing enough, Curatio does leave a very faint scar, a kind of translucent pale line that isn't always visible. I hadn't known you had studied medical magic."

"I hadn't," said Hermione, no longer bothering to pretend. "It just....well, I know perfectly well I never studied the Curatio Charm, but I knew it. It's like I've always known it. And, Madame Pomfrey....I didn't use my wand."

Now the nurse's eyes widened. "What?"

"I didn't use my wand at all. Either to unlock his door, or to disarm him, or to heal the wounds. I only realized afterwards that my wand was still on the bedside table in the outer ward."

"Hermione, do you have any idea how important this could be?" asked Madame Pomfrey, but just then the door to Draco's room opened, and Snape came out, still looking uncharacteristically happy.

"He's asking for you," said Snape to Hermione. "Good luck studying, Hermione. And..." He trailed off, unsure of how to word his request, but she thought she knew what he wanted. It would be extremely awkward if any of the other students found out he had given her a break about the test, and he wouldn't be able to avoid being cold and unpleasant to her.

"I understand," she said, "and I won't say anything."

The nurse smiled. "See, Severus? They're not all fat-headed little prats."

He had the grace to look embarrassed. "I never said that."

"You said a great deal worse. Anyway, off with you, my patients need to study."

Nadezhda was sitting in her office working on the questions she'd set for the exam when the door suddenly resounded to a flurry of knocks. She frowned, waved her wand at it, and it burst open to let in a very excited Severus. He crossed the room to her desk in two strides, leaned on it with his hands, and kissed her on the top of her head. "He's back," he said.

Nadezhda chuckled. "I assume you don't mean Voldemort?"

"Draco Malfoy," he said, fixing her with eyes that were no longer oil-black or beetle-black, but silk-black; black like strong coffee or the night ocean. "Draco Malfoy is at this very moment studying Arithmancy with Hermione Granger and bitching loudly about the disgusting gruel that's all Pomfrey's giving him to eat."

Nadezhda gasped. "How? Last time I saw him he was telling us to fuck off so he could go back to slowly fading away."

"I know. It was Hermione." Severus perched on the edge of the desk. "Apparently, last night, she woke to find him with a scalpel slitting his wrists in an industrious sort of way, and she stopped him and screamed at him, and she must have jerked him out of it, because he asked her to heal the damage he'd done to himself. He told me that he wasn't going to try again. That it would be rude, after all the trouble we've all gone to for his sake."

"Rude," said Nadezhda.

"He seems to have come to some sort of terms with his family history," Severus said. "He's certainly still a Malfoy. Still recognizably Draco, the aesthete, the sardonic and witty and clever kid he's always been. But he's not so blind any more to the world around him, and he has grown up a great deal. He said to me just now that nearly dying is a very educational experience. He realized, when the curse was on him, that there was no longer a reason to keep up appearances; that's why he was so tender with Hermione, because there wasn't any reason to lie. Once out of that immediate crisis, however, the world becomes a great deal more complicated. The truth of who he is and the person he needs to be to the rest of the world aren't the same thing. He said he's not sure how he's going to reconcile the Malfoy he was before all of this happened with the Draco he's grown up into. But...Nadezhda....I think perhaps he's not quite going to be alone in that effort."

"Hermione," Nadezhda agreed. "She's good for him. That's twice now she's saved his life."

"I know," said Severus. "Were we anywhere near as adventurous or desperate or experienced when we were sixteen?"

"I hope not," said Nadezhda. She joined him on the edge of the desk. "The Ministry owled Dumbledore just after lunch. You and I are to appear before the council to testify the day after tomorrow. They're going to wait until Draco's better before they call him to the stand."

"Thank God the Fudge days are past," said Snape, curling his arm around her. "Just think of how complicated this could all get if he was still in charge of things."

"I know," she said. "The Weasley kid didn't do too badly when he had to act as Minister, but I think he was rather glad to give it up to young Mr. Moody. Weasleys are followers, not leaders."

Severus laughed. "A remark worthy of me, my dear. Come down to my quarters when you've finished that, all right? I believe Draco's recovery—and Hermione's—calls for a celebration, and I just happen to have some extraordinarily expensive champagne among my stock of ingredients."

"Strange thing, happenstance, isn't it?" said Nadezhda, and kissed him.

Draco's private room looked rather as if a small literate whirlwind had attacked it. Curls of parchment were draped over every flat surface and littering the floor; books were stacked on the table, the bed, the windowsill and the chair Hermione had given up in favour of the end of the bed. So far they'd managed not to spill ink all over the bedclothes, but there had been several near misses. "What the hell does titration mean?" Draco demanded, waving a copy of Contemporary Potion Science in the air. Hermione shrugged.

"I don't think we have to know that," she said, consulting Snape's study guide, which had already become rather dog-eared. Draco glowered at her.

"I don't care if we have to know it, I don't know it, and that bugs me." He threw down the book and folded his arms, looking sulky. She grinned.

"Cheer up, Malfoy, just four thousand more pages and we can start on Herbology."

Draco groaned and flopped back on his pillows. "Maybe it was a mistake to study with you, Granger. Hand me that water jug, will you?"

She did so. "Honestly, we're not doing badly. We've got most of Snape's list down, and you know his test is always the hardest."

"Speak for yourself," he said, pouring a glass of water and swallowing most of it in one gulp, "I always thought McGonagall's was pretty rough."

"Oh, transfiguration," said Hermione, as if it was nothing. "You can fudge transfiguration if you're good enough at illusions. Potions...well, if you screw up, it's kind of obvious. And explosive."

Draco nearly choked. "Granger! " he sputtered. "Did you just imply that you've cheated on Transfiguration exams?"

She shrugged. "Doesn't everybody? I mean, if you know the theory, there's no reason to lose points just because your snuffbox still has whiskers, or whatever...." She trailed off, aware that he was trying very hard not to laugh. "Oh, shut up, Malfoy."

"Sorry," he gasped, "but the look on your face was priceless. Of course everyone cheats at Transfiguration. Except Longbottom, who can't do illusions either. My, my, what would everybody say if this got out? Granger the Brain Cheats!"

She gave him a look. "They'd say, well, she might be human after all," she said comfortably. Her newfound ability to take Malfoy's gibes with equanimity astonished her; she thought perhaps it was because he wasn't being vicious anymore. Sarcastic, yes, but not vicious. Without thinking, she added, "What would everyone say if they knew Malfoy the pedigreed Slytherin was studying with a mudblood?" and a moment later swore as she realized what she'd said, and who she'd said it to. Draco's face went a bit whiter than it already was, and he looked down. "God, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean....oh, bloody hell, Draco, I'm sorry."

He looked up at her, and slowly that little smile quirked his mouth up at the corners. "No," he said. "I've got to get used to it. You don't mean it, but the rest of the world will."

She felt a strong urge to hug him, but squashed it. "Screw them. They don't matter."

"I think they would disagree with you," he said quietly. "Pretending nothing happened is impossible; pretending all the things I used to do and say never existed is also impossible. I've got to get used to people staring at me now."

"It's not so bad," she said in a small voice. "Harry says you get used to it."

"Potter," said Draco disgustedly. "Hermione, do me a big favour and don't talk about Potter right now, okay? I'm not having a horrible time, and I'd like to keep it like that if you don't mind."

"Of course," she said. What a roundabout way of saying he's having fun. They returned their attention to Potions. Draco was fidgeting, tapping his quill against the parchment irritably. After about five minutes of this, Hermione set down the book and fixed him with a direct cinnamon-coloured gaze. "What is it?"

"I really want a cigarette," he said shamefacedly. "I haven't had one in so long, and I always smoke when I'm studying. Pomfrey won't allow the things in her domain. Not that I blame her."

Hermione grinned. "There are worse vices," she said mildly. "I could use a break. Where are your cigarettes?"

He looked at her sharply. "Hidden. Why?"

"I was going to go and fetch them."

"My, Granger, you have changed," he said. "Breaking school rules?"

"You want one or not?" She got off the bed, put her hands on her hips. He tried to look meek, and didn't succeed very well.

"Yes please."

"Then tell me where they are, fool."

He grinned, suddenly, and looked rather like the sixteen-year-old boy he was, rather than an ethereal alabaster carving wearing striped pyjamas. "In a silver case inside my copy of Eldon's Peerage, on the first shelf by my bed. How the hell are you going to get inside the Slytherin dorm to get them?"

"Haven't the foggiest," she said, tucking her wand into her sleeve. "I'll be back soon."

She felt Draco's eyes on her as she left the room. The strange tingling sensation was entirely pleasurable, but very strange, and rather distracting.

The Slytherin common room was as she remembered it from Harry and Ron's description, back in their second year. She hadn't known what she was about to do, but as she approached the wall that hid the magical door, the password whispered itself in her mind as clearly as if someone standing behind her had said it. "Lacrimosa," she had hissed, and the wall had opened up to show her the low-ceilinged chamber with its green-tinged torches and chilly atmosphere. She was in luck; there was no one in the room—she glanced at her watch and saw that it was dinnertime, and everybody was probably taking a well-deserved study break to go eat—and hurried over to the arch leading into the sixth-year boys dorm. Malfoy's bed was immediately recognizable because it was the only one made and not mounded over with the debris of frantic last-minute studying. A fine layer of dust lay on the bedside table. Presumably, she thought as she found the book containing the cigarette case, even house-elves didn't like the Slytherin quarters and avoided coming here as often as possible.

Someone moaned and turned over in bed across the room, and Hermione froze; had they seen her? Very slowly she turned around and saw in the dimness the humped form of Blaise Zabini, who looked as if he'd fallen asleep in the middle of a chapter of History of Magic. She couldn't blame him. Tiptoeing out as quietly and quickly as she could, Hermione slipped Draco's cigarette case into the pocket of her robes and made her way back to the common room.

And now her blood really did feel like it had turned to ice in her veins, for not only were there students walking through the concealed door, but Snape was standing with his arms folded beside the entryway.

Shit. How am I going to talk my way out of this one?

And again, without any warning, she knew what to do. Very quietly she muttered a sentence in Latin and moved the fingers of her right hand in a counterclockwise circle inside her pocket. The faint crackling of the torches receded to near-silence and the muted light grew more dim. She walked steadily across the green carpet, not looking right or left, and slipped through the common room door without anyone seeing that she was there at all.

Once in the hallway, sound and vision returned in a rush, and she slumped against the wall. The glamorie had taken a lot out of her.

And you still didn't use your wand! her mind yelled at her. What the hell is going on here?

I don't know. But I've got other things to worry about.

She hurried up the stairs, using as many secret passages as she could to save time and visibility, and slipped back into the hospital wing and into Draco's room just before Madame Pomfrey looked up from her paperwork.

Flushed with exertion and excitement and panting slightly from the hurried journey, she flopped down on the edge of Draco's bed and held out the cigarette case. He stared at it as if it was a hitherto unknown fantastic beast.

"You got them," he said after a moment. "You actually got them. How?"

"I'm not sure," she told him, honestly. She got up and shoved a towel against the crack under the door, and opened the window. "Go on, indulge your damn vice."

Draco snickered, pulled out a clove, and laid about himself for his wand or a flame of some sort. Hermione sighed and touched the tip of the cigarette with her finger, and it crackled to life. He stared at her. She stared at her finger.

The familiar incense scent of cloves drifted on the air of the room. Draco took a long drag and coughed hackingly, looking irritated. "Blast," he said. Hermione sat back down on the bed, wondering again what in the world was happening to her. She'd never seen anyone do what she'd just done.

Draco pulled on his cigarette again, but it made him cough so badly she had to get him a glass of water. "Shit," he gasped. "It's too strong. Pomfrey's right, my throat's still all screwed up from the curse. It's not fair."

Hermione looked at the cigarette between his fingers, back at him, and reached out to take it. "Hush," she said. Something was thrumming in her blood. Something new, bigger than her, older than her. Something that wasn't afraid of Draco and that always seemed to know what to do. She regarded the burning clove for a long moment before putting it to her lips and taking a long deep drag of the aromatic smoke.

Draco was staring at her, his silver eyes wide. He must be having some trouble internalizing all this, she thought with distant amusement. First the revelation that I've cheated in Transfiguration, and now he's seeing me smoking. Poor kid.

She felt the slight dizziness as nicotine rushed through her bloodstream, tasted the sweetness of the smoke, and bent over gently, till her lips touched his, and parted. The thrill of that touch made her far more dizzy than the smoke. Slowly she exhaled into his mouth, felt the smoke draw away from her as he breathed it in, and straightened up. He closed his eyes and let the smoke trickle out of his nostrils, like a dragon, but he didn't cough. She had tempered it enough so it didn't irritate his throat.

Now how did I know to do that? she wondered. Draco finally opened his eyes and stared at her again. "Hermione?" he whispered.

"More?"

He looked as if there was a lot he'd like to say, but he simply nodded. Slowly and carefully, they smoked the cigarette all the way down to the filter, which Hermione banished with a self-conscious wave of her wand. Another wave took care of the fragrance that hung in the air. She sat back down on the edge of the bed and looked down at her lap, the bright rush of confidence ebbing a bit. Draco was still looking at her as if she'd suddenly grown an extra head.

"Sorry," she said. "That was presumptive of me."

"Hell," he muttered, "it got the job done." He leaned back against the pillows. "Granger, I hesitate to ask you this, but I'll be cursing myself for the rest of my life if I don't." He gave her a strangely uncertain glance. "Would you mind...that is, could I....oh, fuck it. Hold still."

"What?"

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to kiss you."

And he did. Hermione's blood seemed to have been replaced by something extremely effervescent; her entire body seemed to fizz as Draco sat up, took her face between his hands, and kissed her more thoroughly and effectively than she had ever been kissed before in her life.

When he let her go, after far too short a time, she sat utterly still on the edge of the bed and stared at him, speechless for the first time she could remember. Draco looked extremely pleased with himself as he lay back on his pillows and laced his fingers behind his head. "Interesting," he said. "That seems to render you silent. I'll have to remember that in future."

She made a wordless noise and pulled him back to her and kissed him again. "Mmmph," he said, but didn't say anything else; she doubted either of them had the breath to speak. This time the kiss went on a great deal longer and was more intense. Draco was gasping when at last she let him lie back down. "Go easy on me, Granger," he managed through a wide and rather silly grin. "I'm still weak, remember?"

"Sorry," said Hermione, unrepentantly. At that moment, she thought she could probably conjure a Patronus Charm that would send Voldemort himself running for cover. She couldn't remember ever having been so astonishingly happy in her life.

"So you should be," Draco told her solemnly, "you've probably set me back a month at least."

Hermione pushed hair out of her eyes and looked at him. "Well, you started it."

"Mmm. I was just about to add that you could make that two months, if you tried hard." This time it was his turn. He slid an arm around her and pulled her to him, and their lips met. It wasn't exploratory, like the first time, or urgent, like the second; it was slow and sweet and skillful and rather more tender than she would ever have thought Malfoy capable of. Her entire world shrank and dwindled to the points of contact between her and Draco; the kiss burned like a candleflame in a world of darkness. All her worries and her fears and her hopes fell away, leaving nothing of her but that bright point and the dim sweet fire that was burning beneath her breastbone. When at last the kiss came to an end, Hermione knew that something irrevocable had happened to her. No matter how long she lived, she would never again be the Hermione she was before that kiss. The thought held no terror for her.

"I don't think we're going to get much more work done tonight," she said quietly.

Draco gave her a tired smile. "'Quel giorno piu no vi leggemo avante?'"

She laughed. "Wouldn't Snape be astonished if he knewContemporary Potion Science had such results on its readers. No, Draco, I think we've studied all we're going to study for the time being."

"Don't go," he said suddenly, and his hand found hers. "Hermione...stay with me, until I sleep? I've got these awful nightmares..."

"Of course," she said. She busied herself with clearing off the bed and stacking books and parchment on the available flat surfaces of the room. Her body was still on fire with the memory of that kiss, but it was a low fire, a slow-burning one, that she thought she could probably live with. "Draco?"

"Mmmm?"

"Please tell me you're not going to regret that when you've had some sleep?"

"I promise I'll respect you in the morning," he told her amusedly. "No, Hermione, I'd not have kissed you in the first place if I had any last lingering doubts. This has taken me rather by surprise."

"You and me both," she said fervently, sitting back down. He looked at her, a gleam of urgency in the gelid depths of those eyes.

"You don't regret it?" he asked her seriously.

"Don't be an idiot, Malfoy," she said. "It's not generally the done thing, to regret it when your dreams suddenly come true."

He kept that glance on her for a long searching moment, then nodded. "Thank you, Hermione."

"You're welcome, Draco."

With this rather stilted exchange, the room fell quiet. Hermione watched as his eyes drooped closed and his breathing deepened and became more regular. It was like watching snow fall, she thought absently. Hypnotic.

He was deeply asleep by the time she got up and made her way to her own bed, and fell into a cocoon of intricate and self-referential dreams that repeated that last kiss, over and over, like mirrors reflecting one another. Hermione drifted through rosy clouds of utter contentment, as the snow that had fallen all day swirled around the mullioned windows of the hospital wing, and the boy who had been Lucius Malfoy's son slept dreamlessly and well.