Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ War of the Wizarding World ❯ Chapter 2

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

"Poor Severus," Dumbledore said softly. "He will be heartbroken if the boy dies, especially if he is not here when it happens. Yet it is better that- whatever the outcome- he not witness this....I assume you will be administering the blood replacement serum now?" Madam Pomfrey murmured her assent. "He may well be too far gone," came Dumbeldore's sad voice, "but we have nothing to lose by trying."

Harry grimaced. He had heard about blood replacement serum. It could save a victim of massive blood loss even from the brink of death, but was supposed to be painful beyond belief; the body reacted violently to it at first, and it was said to be many times worse even than having bones regrown- (a pain that Harry was all too familiar with)- because whereas the pain of a regrowing bone was at least localized, in the case of the serum the searing pain was felt throughout one's entire body as it spread through one's veins.

He couldn't believe that Draco would have to endure yet more suffering. Because of him; all because of him. Distantly he heard Dumbledore saying something that sounded like, "-should bind him to the bed; he will probably thrash quite a bit. And do give Harry a bit of dreamless sleep potion first. I am going to see to the window."

Hearing footsteps approaching his bed, he managed to drag his eyes open to see Madam Pomfrey bending over him. Slipping a hand beneath his head, she raised it slightly and with her other hand pressed a large vial of potion to his lips. He possessed neither the strength nor the will to resist, so he drank obediently, and was asleep even before she had finished easing his head back onto the pillow.

*****

It was still dark when Harry woke; in fact, no more than a couple of hours had passed, though of course he had no concept of how long he'd been asleep. The only light in the room was a dim glow that emanated from two wands- his and Draco's- lying side by side on the nightstand between the beds.

He can't be dead, then, Harry thought foggily; his wand would go out if he were dead...wouldn't it?

Sitting up slowly, he fumbled on the nightstand for his glasses, pushed away the blankets that covered him and looked down at himself, mildly surprised to find that he was now dressed in soft white clothes identical to those that Draco wore.

Draco.

Abruptly ending his perusal of himself, he turned to stare at the boy in the next bed.

Draco was there; white clothes, white skin, white blond hair. Harry swung his legs over the edge of his bed and, leaning forward, looked harder. Draco was not resting peacefully; far from it. Something was very wrong. Harry glanced quickly around the room, searching for an adult, but the two boys were alone. Then he remembered- the blood replacement serum. He got up, padded barefoot over to Draco's bed, and stood looking down for a moment, feeling fresh tears stinging the backs of his eyes.

I did this...I did this...I did this...

"Malfoy," he whispered. There was no response.

Draco lay on the bed with the covers pooled about his waist. Both his wrists were cuffed with what appeared to be magical bonds- soft yet very strong- and attached to the headboard with about a foot of leeway each. Draco had managed to grab on to the cords around his wrists, and was pulling hard on them. His entire body was taut and trembling. His fair hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his jaw was clenched, and though his eyes were squeezed tightly shut, tears were escaping the corners of them to trickle steadily down the sides of his face. His breath was coming in short, ragged bursts. He was quite clearly in agony- though just as he had earlier when under the Cruciatus curse, he flatly refused to cry out. He simply lay there, his body rigid with pain, and suffered silently.

"Aw- Malfoy," Harry croaked, "I am - so - sorry." He picked up his wand from the nightstand and with a few murmured words released Draco's wrists from their bonds. Draco's arms flew to his sides and he instantly grabbed fistfuls of his blankets and twisted them viciously in his hands. He still gave no indication that he was aware of Harry's presence.

Setting his wand back down beside Draco's, Harry sat on the edge of the bed and, prying Draco's nearer hand from the blankets, gripped it tightly in his own. "Malfoy," he said, "I'm here. This pain you're feeling now- it's all because of me, and I would take it from you if I could. God, I wish I could. But the least I can do is stay with you, so hold on as tight as you want. I won't let go."

Draco immediately clamped down on his hand with a grip like iron, leaving Harry, wincing, with no doubt that though he gave no other indication, the Slytherin had heard, and understood.

There were many good things that could be said about Ron's broom. Sturdy, reliable, built-to-last, were all adjectives that applied. After all, it had already patiently borne the use of many Weasleys. Swift, however, it was not- even under the best of circumstances. And now, laden down with the weight of two passengers, the going was painfully slow.

Ron, exhausted, numb with cold, and thoroughly miserable, was doing his valiant best to get them back to school in the least amount of time possible, but he was beginning to realize that the odds were against their seeing Hogwarts before dawn. It was like a bad dream- they seemed to be flying and flying, but getting nowhere. Ron blinked hard- his eyes were heavy and it was becoming a battle merely to stay awake, let alone guide the broomstick.

As for Hermione, he was pretty sure that she was actually asleep. At first she had held him tightly from behind and as she pressed against him, he could feel her uneven, hitching breaths. He had realized after a moment, with a stab of remorse so sharp it was nearly physical, that she was crying again. But eventually, her breathing had slowed and lost its ragged catch, her grip had loosened somewhat, and her head had become a constant warm, heavy weight on his shoulder. Yes, he thought now, she was almost certainly asleep.

With a defeated sigh, he pointed the broom toward the ground, finally giving up hope of flying straight through to Hogwarts. They would have to make camp for a few hours; he was in no condition to keep going- fatigue was blurring his vision and slowing his reflexes- he should not be flying. And then there was Hermione to think about. It had just occurred to him that, fast asleep, she was in very real danger of losing her grip altogether and slipping off, when-

She slipped off.

It was the single most horrifying instant of Ron's life.

With an inarticulate cry of despair, he jerked back hard on the broom, coming to a sudden, jolting halt in midair, then pointed it nearly straight down, diving after her. Knowing, even as he did so, that it was hopeless; he had no chance of catching her, not on this broom. And he knew with bitter certainty that Harry could have done it; Harry could have caught her- but he wasn't a natural born flier like Harry, his broom was no Firebolt, and he was helpless to save the girl he loved.

What took place next, happened in a matter of seconds, yet to Ron, who would always remember every detail in startling crystal clarity, it seemed as though the world had become a huge pair of omnioculars set to slow- motion.

Below him he could just make out Hermione falling silently toward the earth. He gave his all, speeding after her, but on his aged, secondhand broom, his all just wasn't enough. It never was. And that was when he decided to let go.

I can't take this, he thought, as an eerie calm descended on him. This is more than anyone should have to bear. I love her more than anything else on earth, and there have been a dozen times this past week I've thought I've lost her- but now- to watch her die like this- so senselessly after everything she's been through- I can't. I won't. I'm going with her. Harry will manage- Harry always does.

He took a deep breath in preparation for throwing himself from the broom.

He would have done it, too- he was absolutely certain of that. Except that at that precise moment, something went hurtling past him, from just below and slightly to his right; a blur of speed streaking toward Hermione so quickly that his mind just barely registered what it was; a person, bent flat over his broomstick, in the midst of a spectacular dive.

Ron was so shocked that his grip on the broom tightened instead of loosening, and he pulled up hard, out of his dive, to sit in midair and watch, in a daze, the miraculous rescue that was playing out below him. For as he looked on, the speeding figure on the broomstick did indeed manage to catch Hermione, though he almost lost control of his broom in the process. Shooting directly beneath her and snatching her out of the air, he immediately went into a barrel roll, the broomstick rolling its two occupants over and over as it spiraled toward the ground. Somehow, though, Hermione's savior managed to keep a firm grip on her while wrestling his broom back under control; barely twenty feet from the ground he came out his spiral and glided to a gentle halt in the air. Then he allowed his broomstick to begin sinking slowly straight down to earth.

Ron, who had watched all this as though transfixed, suddenly gave a hoarse cry and plunged once again toward the ground. An immense, staggering wave of relief swept over him, leaving him dizzy, weak and nauseous in its aftermath, and one word pounded in his brain; HARRY!

It had to be him. Never mind that rationally, Ron knew that Harry must be miles away; that in all likelihood he and Malfoy were back at school by now and had been for some time. His mind insisted that it MUST be Harry, for the simple reason that no one else flew like that. With the possible exception of Krum, who was, to the best of Ron's knowledge, thousands of miles away in Bulgaria, no one else COULD fly like that. Harry must have dropped Malfoy off and immediately turned around and come back to meet them. And that thought filled him with dread because, knowing Harry like he did, he was positive that Harry would not have left Malfoy's side as he was fighting for life; Harry would only have left Malfoy if he were beyond all help; beyond all hope. Harry would only have left Malfoy if he were dead.

Ron felt tears stinging his eyes as he landed hard, skidding painfully on his knees and elbows. The tears were openly running down his face as he staggered to his feet and half ran, half stumbled, toward the two figures huddled on the ground several yards away. Torn between his relief over Hermione's safety and his unexpectedly strong grief for Malfoy, he choked back a sob, never noticing that two more people on broomsticks were gliding in to land behind him.

A few feet from Hermione and her rescuer, (who was holding the terrified girl in a tight embrace and whose hood was thrown back, revealing a shock of dark hair that confirmed, in Ron's mind, the fact that this was indeed Harry,) Ron tripped over a tree root and went sprawling to the ground. Scrambling onto his knees, he crawled the remaining distance, now shaking too badly to even attempt regaining his feet. He was babbling by the time he reached them.

"Hermione- my God- I'm sorry- so sorry- all my fault...should have stopped for the night- hours ago.....oh God- you almost- because of me! And Harry- thank God you were- but where's Malfoy?- and where did you- HOW did you-"

And then he stopped short, because the figure kneeling before him, with Hermione clasped to his chest, raised his head at that moment, and of course it wasn't Harry at all. It was-

"P-Professor SNAPE?!?"

It was, undeniably, Snape, looking weary and haggard and suddenly ten years older. "Calm yourself, Weasley," he snarled.

Ron simply stared at him, agape with amazement, for a long, long time; then, abruptly raising a hand to his mouth, he whispered "excuse me, professor; I think I'm gonna be sick." Lurching to his feet, he somehow made it a short distance away and, leaning against the trunk of a young tree for support, was violently ill into some bushes.

He retched until there was nothing left to come up, and still the dry heaves went on and on. Several minutes later, he was still there, now with one arm wrapped completely around the slender tree trunk, clinging desperately because it was all that was holding him up. His legs had no strength left and if he lost his grasp on the tree, he was sure that he would pitch forward right into his own vomit. Barely half-conscious, he raised his other hand to his face and pushed his hair, damp with cold sweat, out of his eyes. Physically as well as emotionally, he felt worse than he could ever remember feeling in his life. He closed his eyes and began to slide down the tree trunk. He couldn't hold himself up any longer. He suddenly and desperately wanted any one of his big brothers. Even Percy would do.

That was when strong hands caught him under the arms from behind, and a gentle voice, weighted with concern, murmured softly, "steady there, Ron." That voice was familiar, he thought hazily- but he couldn't place it. His mind was not being very cooperative at the moment. He felt himself pulled backward several feet from the tree, then lowered slowly to a sitting position on the ground. A dark shape came around from behind him and hunkered down, reaching out to clasp his shoulder.

"Ron?" The figure pushed back its hood.

"Sirius," Ron whispered, his cobalt eyes widening.

Sirius smiled, albeit wanly. "Ron, are you all right?"

"I've been better," Ron said, and grimaced, remembering that Malfoy had given him that same answer to a similar question back at the ruins. Malfoy....thinking that Snape was Harry, Ron had been so sure that Malfoy must be dead, and it had been a horrible feeling. Even after all the years of hostility, even after discovering that he had in all likelihood lost Hermione forever to Malfoy, Ron did not want him to die. Part of it was Harry- Ron knew that if Malfoy died the guilt would tear Harry apart. But there was more to it than that- it just- it just didn't seem fair! That Malfoy should die now, after finally proving himself to be a person of courage, determination and integrity, seemed monstrously unjust.

"Sirius," he said hesitantly, "did you- have you seen Harry and Malfoy? They went ahead of us. Malfoy was hurt. Do you know if they got back to school? Do you know if Malfoy-" he felt a sick sense of foreboding deep in his gut- "if he's okay?"

"They made it back to Hogwarts," Sirius replied. "Harry is getting some well-earned rest and Draco- well, I can't honestly say that he's okay, Ron, but he is alive- or was when we left." He shook his head, looking grim. "It didn't look good, though. I wish I could say otherwise, but- it just didn't look good."

Ron nodded mutely, not quite trusting himself to speak as he fought back tears. A few moments later, when he felt himself mostly in control again, he asked, "where did you come from, Sirius? Where did Professor Snape come from?"

"After Harry arrived at Hogwarts with Draco, we were sent by Professor Dumbledore to trace the path he had taken on his flight back to school. It was intended that we should meet you along the way- Professor McGonagall is here to accompany you and Hermione safely back- and Snape and I are to continue on and recover the bodies." He allowed his face to crease into another tired smile. "I head about Wormtail, Ron- how you saved Harry. It was a very brave thing you did. And once we get the body back to Hogwarts, my name will finally be cleared. So I have two reasons to thank you- on my godson's behalf and my own. I'm in your debt."

Ron's only response was a sort of choked grunt as he dropped his head forward between his knees.

"Ron," Sirius said worriedly, "you seem really- REALLY unhappy. I know how worried you must be about Draco, but- it seems like there's more to it than that. I don't like seeing you like this. Just tell me- is there anything I can do to help?"

There was a long silence. Then, "it's Hermione," Ron said finally in an anguished voice, not looking up. She almost died- I let her fall. No, screw that, I practically MADE her fall! I KNEW she was exhausted- I should have seated her in front of me so that I could hold onto her. I should have landed hours ago and made camp for the night. I should have- Goddamn it! If not for a lucky chance- a one-in-a-million chance- she'd be dead right now. After coming through that battle intact she'd still be dead right now, for no other reason than my own fucking stupidity! Sirius- " He raised his head at last, and Sirius saw that his eyes were haunted. "- I was gonna let go."

Sirius recoiled as though he'd been slapped. "You were WHAT?!"

Ron dropped his head again. "I dove after her, but I saw right away it was no use. I couldn't catch her and when I realized that, I- I was gonna let go. If I couldn't save her I was gonna fall with her."

"Ron, no! Oh dear God, NO! What were you THINKING?" The horrified voice was not Sirius's. Jerking his head back up, Ron saw Hermione standing just behind Sirius, Snape beside her with an arm draped protectively about her shoulder. She was ghostly white, her dark eyes huge in her pale face. Stepping around Sirius, she dropped to her knees, reaching out to press her palm against Ron's clammy cheek.

"Ron," she breathed, and her eyes were pleading, "tell me it's not true. You weren't really going to-" She trailed off when she saw the truth written all over his face. "Oh God," she whispered, "you were." Ron's face crumpled completely then, and as it did, Hermione drew him forward into her arms, his head falling onto her shoulder as he began to sob in earnest.

"C'mon, Black," Snape said, "give them some room." Sirius got up, still wearing an expression of shock from what Ron had revealed to him, and the two men walked a short distance away to where Minerva McGonagall stood looking on, one hand pressed to her heart.

Hermione, meanwhile, continued to hold Ron as he wept, stroking his hair and shushing him. Tears leaked from her eyes and fell into Ron's coppery hair. At long last his sobs subsided and he raised his head, his tired, sad eyes- eyes so blue they were nearly black in the faint moonlight- meeting hers. He drew in breath to speak, but before he could do so, she pressed her hand gently over his lips.

"Before you say anything else," she said urgently, "promise me- promise me you'll never even think of doing such a thing ever, ever again! No matter what. PROMISE me!"

"I promise," Ron replied in a choked whisper, his eyes still steady on hers.

"Oh Ron," she murmured, shaking her head, "how could you have thought that would help anything? You always WERE so bloody impulsive!"

Ron cracked a tiny smile. It made her heart ache. Raising her hand to his face once more, she wiped his tears away with her thumb. "I wish we were eleven again," she said suddenly, wistfully. "Things were so much simpler then."

Ron raised his eyes to the night sky. "I loved you then too," he said softly; "I just didn't know it yet."

She dropped her hand from his face suddenly, as though she'd been stung. "Ron, let's not-"

"No." He cut her off, gently but firmly. "No, wait. I have to say this. I have to get it out. I'm only going to say it once, but I need you to know. I-" he swallowed hard, still with his eyes on the heavens, avoiding her gaze. "I love you so much its like- like breathing. You gotta breathe to live- I gotta breathe, and I gotta love you. I always have, and I always will. But I realized something when I saw you fall- I realized that I love you SO much, the most important thing to me isn't that you love me back- not anymore- it's just that you're safe, and happy. I want you to be happy. And if you can be happier with Malfoy than with me, I want to you to be with Malfoy. Just promise me one thing- that I'll never lose your friendship. Because if I did, I wouldn't have to throw myself from a broomstick in mid-air...I'd just- give up. I would lie down and die. So you have to swear- we will be friends always, right?" He lowered his gaze to stare back into her wide, luminous eyes.

"Always," she whispered solemnly. "You, me and Harry. Always and forever, Ron."

"Good," he said. He nodded once in satisfaction, and his tiny smile reappeared. "There's just one more thing I need you to know, then. I'm gonna wait for you, Hermione. I'm gonna wait for you forever. If I live to be a hundred, I will still be waiting. And if I die waiting, then so be it, because there will never be anyone else for me. No, don't say anything- " it was his turn now to raise a hand to her lips, stopping her words before they began- "I'm not trying to sway your decision. I want you to do what will make you happiest. I just needed for you to know where I stand. And don't ever forget, because I won't say it again- but it will hold true for the rest of my life."

He leaned forward, placed a kiss on her forehead, stood, and walked away, leaving her kneeling, stunned, on the ground.

*****

As Hermione tried to collect her thoughts, Ron walked slowly toward the three people standing some distance away, steeling himself for what he had to do next. He dreaded it, yet he knew it was the only right thing to do. The only honorable thing. And let it never be said that Ron Weasley lacked honor. He may not have wealth, he may not have fame, he may not have the heart of the girl he loved, but by God, he had his honor. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he walked straight up to Snape. He cleared his throat awkwardly as Snape stared hard at him.

Sensing what was on Ron's mind, Professor McGonagall shot a meaningful look at Sirius and turned to walk away, back toward where the broomsticks lay. Sirius followed her, leaving Ron and Snape alone in uncomfortable silence.

"Um," Ron said, and swallowed hard. "Professor, I just wanted to, ah, thank you....for- for catching Hermione. When I couldn't. I, uh, just wanted you to know that I....well...thanks, that's all. Thanks."

Snape's dark eyes seemed to be boring right through him. Ron found that he couldn't hold his professor's intense gaze any longer. He dropped his eyes unhappily as he waited for Snape to say something, anything. The silence was becoming unbearable.

At long last, Snape spoke. "I don't want your thanks, Weasley," he growled. "I just did what I had to do, what anyone would have done." He started to turn away.

"No!" Ron said, surprised by the vehemence in his own voice.

Snape turned back to face him again, startled. "Mister Weasley?" he asked coldly, raising an eyebrow.

"What I mean to say is," Ron stammered, now painfully embarrassed but determined just the same, "when you saved Hermione you saved me too, whether intentionally or not. So I- I need- for you accept my thanks, professor. Please." And he extended his right hand toward Snape.

Now Snape's other eyebrow shot up and he stared at Ron in barely concealed amazement. Ron stared back, determined to hold his gaze this time, though inwardly he was wincing, already sure of rejection.

When Snape actually took his hand and shook it he was as astonished as Snape had been when he had first offered it.

The brief handshake accomplished, Snape again turned to leave, but once more Ron stopped him. "Professor," he said, and when Snape turned back toward him again, Ron could see that his patience was wearing dangerously thin, but he rushed on; "I just wanted to tell you that- the way you flew- it was amazing. I had no idea- you were- were- you could have played quidditch for England. I was just wondering- where- how- you learned to fly like that?"

"I used to play on the Slytherin team," Snape said shortly. "Seeker. When I attended Hogwarts as a student."

"Wow," Ron said, unable to dampen the sudden enthusiasm in his voice despite the increasingly dark look on the older man's face. "You must have been the best player in the school!"

"No," Snape replied, and his dark eyes were suddenly far off, as though he were looking into another place and time. When he next spoke, he voice was the bitterest Ron had ever heard it. "Second best. Always bloody second best."

And he stalked away, toward Sirius, McGonagall and the broomsticks, leaving Ron standing utterly still, dumbfounded.

*****

After Snape and Sirius departed to continue following Harry's flight path back to its point of origin at the ruined manor house (Snape kicking off savagely and shooting into the now lightening sky like a rocket, Sirius following with a shrug and a wave), Ron walked back over to where Hermione still knelt on the ground. As he had at the ruins, he offered her a hand up, and this time she accepted it.

The two of them went together over to where Professor McGonagall stood with the remaining two broomsticks. She was rummaging through a deep pocket of her robe, and came up a moment later with two small vials. Handing them to Ron and Hermione, she said, "this is just a simple wakefulness potion. It should keep you both alert until we reach the school. It's not very far; really, you two had made it most of the way back. Another half an hour, perhaps." Studying the brooms as Ron and Hermione downed the potion, she asked, "May I assume, Mister Weasley, that your broom can travel faster with one passenger than with two?"

Ron nodded his assent.

"Then I will take your broom, and the two of you take mine." The professor glanced skyward. "We should arrive back before the sun is even truly up- if we leave right now. So, shall we?"

*****

True to McGonagall's prediction, the sun was just barely peeking over the horizon, touching the tops of the castle's tallest towers with gold, when they arrived back at Hogwarts. They landed the brooms in front of the school's wide stone front steps, and parted ways in the entrance hall; McGonagall heading toward Dumbledore's office and Ron and Hermione making straight for the hospital wing.

It was as though the potion running through their veins somehow understood that they were safely back and its job was done, because as they headed up the stairs and down the corridors that led them toward the infirmary, they both experienced increasingly strong waves of exhaustion. By the time they walked through the door of Draco's private room, having been directed to it by Madam Pomfrey upon entering the main ward, they were leaning heavily on each other- literally holding one another up.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said. "Oh, DRACO."

Harry was still sitting on the edge of Draco's bed, now slumped back against the headboard, eyes heavy lidded with fatigue. His hand was still clasped in Draco's and Draco was still lying rigid with pain, his head now tossing slightly from side to side as if in a desperate, silent plea for the hurt to end.

"Hey," Harry said in a cracked voice, his eyes widening marginally and the faintest hint of a smile showing on his face. "am I glad to see you two. You both all right?"

Ron and Hermione shared a quick, meaningful look. Though they would never ordinarily withhold information from their best friend, they reached an unspoken agreement that this was neither the time nor the place to tell Harry of the harrowing ordeal of Hermione's fall. It could wait till later- till they were rested and in better spirits, till they knew whether Draco would- would....

"We're fine, Harry," Ron said; "a little tired, but intact. Professor McGonagall met us some way back and accompanied us for the final stretch. She's gone to report to Dumbledore now. But- but what about- him?"

Harry's eyes flicked down to Draco, then back up to Ron. "Blood replacement serum," he said, then added as Hermione gasped and paled, grasping the implications immediately, "It's said to be very painful. I think it's working, though."

Hermione crossed the room to sit on the other side of Draco's bed. Leaning close over him, she began to gently caress his face and sweat-drenched hair. Her touch seemed to soothe him; he stopped tossing his head and a tiny groan, just a miserable little "owww", escaped his lips; the first sound Harry had heard him make since he had awakened to find him in this state.

Raising her eyes to Harry, Hermione whispered, "do you really think it's working? Do you think he'll live?" In her eyes, Harry could see hope doing battle with her practical nature, which was, he thought, in all likelihood telling her to suppress all hope lest it be dashed in the end.

"Hermione," he said gently, "he's strong. Trust me-" he glanced ruefully down at his hand, which had long since lost all feeling in Draco's crushing grip- "I know."

"He can be strong when he wants to be," Hermione said tearfully, "but back at the ruins he said- he said he wanted to die-"

Harry shook his head. "Anyone who had been hurt this badly and truly wanted to die would already be dead. But Malfoy- he's fighting. I think somewhere along the way he changed his mind. He may not even have realized it, but that doesn't make it any less true. He's fighting for his life, and he IS strong. He'll win the fight, Hermione. I just- have a feeling. He'll get through this."

Hermione nodded mutely, passing the back of her hand across her puffy eyes. Harry's heart went out to her because she still looked so terribly unsure. To tell the truth he wasn't completely sure himself- he had tried to put more confidence in his voice than he actually felt. Because Hermione needed rest right now; he could tell that she was way beyond tired. And her mind needed to be calmed as much as possible before her body could finally surrender to the sleep it so desperately craved.

"Harry?" she asked a moment later, "Do you want me to take over for you? I- I could hold his hand for a while."

"No, love," Harry replied. "I need to do this- I'm the one who put him in this state; I need to be the one to see him through it." He looked from Hermione over to Ron, who was still standing just inside the door, leaning against the wall in a patch of gray dawn light from the room's one small window, looking thoroughly miserable. "Anyway, I was dozing on and off until you got here- so really I'm not that tired anymore," he said (lied). "But you guys- you look bloody awful. You need to get some sleep, both of you, in the worst way. Please-" he added, forestalling Hermione's protests, "don't make me yell for Madam Pomfrey to give you both a sleeping draught. I'll do it if you make me!" He shot her a tired, but winning, grin. "I want to see you in the other bed, young lady, by the count of three. One..Two.."

With a sigh and a glare that didn't quite suppress a tiny answering smile, Hermione complied. Crossing to the empty bed, she sat on the edge of it, laid her wand on the nightstand beside Harry's and Draco's, and, with a hint of her old bossiness showing through, instructed Ron to do the same. She then began undoing the braids that had she had worn since Lavender's visit to her own hospital room days ago. Shaking out her hair, she glanced over to see that Ron was now making himself comfortable on his cloak spread out on the floor; then she sank down into the blissful softness of the bed. The dark warmth of much-needed sleep encompassed her immediately, just as the sun finally reached the window, bathing the room in golden morning light.

Night had come again when Draco blinked slowly awake and stared uncomprehendingly at the ceiling of the small room in which he found himself. For several moments he lay perfectly still and did not consciously think at all; he just listened to the sound of his heart beating and to his own rhythmic breathing; it was deep and regular, painless and easy. That surprised him for some reason. But why? And then he remembered....

Oh, shit.

That's right.

Potter stabbed me- right in the chest.

He raised his arms from where they lay atop the blankets- one flung out beside him so that his hand trailed over the edge of the narrow bed, the other crossed casually over his midsection- and brought both hands up to his chest. With his right hand he pulled down and out on the neck of the soft white shirt he was wearing, making room for his left hand to slip underneath. He explored his chest with his fingertips. There was nothing there. No wound, certainly; no scar that he could detect by touch; no discomfort, even, to offer a clue as to where exactly the dagger had pierced him. The skin under his fingers was perfect and smooth. Really, one might almost think-

But no. He shook his head. He had been stabbed all right. He remembered clearly the shock of it, and then the pain. The blinding agony that had gone on and on, and had made him desperate to die...he shuddered at the thought of it.

Speaking of dying...he had been so sure he would. So sure he wanted to. And not just because of the physical pain he had been suffering; there had been other reasons as well. His parents, the Slytherins, the Death Eaters...he was going to have trouble from all of them. A shitload of trouble. He had lost his place in the world. He no longer knew where he belonged. He couldn't go home after this- of that he was certain. Nor was he likely to be welcome, or safe, back in Slytherin house, amongst the sons and daughters of the Death Eaters who would surely now be howling for his blood. So just what the hell was he supposed to do? Death would have been easier. He had known that then, but damned heroic Potter wouldn't listen to him, wouldn't let him slip into the darkness as he lay in Hermione's arms. He knew it now too, but death no longer seemed to be an option- apparently he had been restored to perfect health. He sighed unhappily and his eyes began to wander restlessly over the ceiling again.

He became aware of the distant sounds of celebration- a celebration of massive proportions, he thought, if he could hear it here, in the infirmary wing, which was far removed from the Great Hall and was also surrounded by charms designed specifically to reduce noise from the rest of the school.

Hero-boy must be down there right now, he thought bitterly, basking in his glory. Signing autographs. In response to this thought, his mind flashed him a brief yet vivid image of Potter's arms wrapped around his chest from behind, supporting him as they sped through the night, of Potter's voice in his ear, the panic in his tone as he begged him to hold on.

He rejected this vision instantly. He was just playing the role of Heroic Gryffindor. And satisfying his own conscience besides. Now that we're back and I'm recovered, I won't be seeing him again. Or Weasley. He felt a sudden pang then, as he thought, and what about Hermione? Where is she? Down there dancing with hero-boy?

Sighing again, eyes still fixed on the ceiling, he reached for his wand which, he could tell by the glow emanating from it, lay on the nightstand beside him. He was unsure exactly what he intended to do with it; he just felt on some basic level that it would be comforting to have it in his hand now, when he felt so alone.

What he felt on the nightstand caused him to gasp and yank back his hand in surprise, then turn his head away from the ceiling for the first time and look beside him.

On the nightstand, softly glowing, lay not one, but four wands. I thought my wand seemed brighter than usual, he mused, staring. Then his attention was caught by something not on the nightstand, but leaning against it.

There, asleep in a sitting position on the floor, clad all in white just like Draco himself, with his back against the nightstand and his unruly head bowed forward, chin on his chest and glasses still on, though badly askew, was Potter.

Draco stared in open mouthed amazement, until something even more incredible behind Potter caught his eye. There was another bed beyond the nightstand and any question that might have arisen in Draco's mind as to why Potter should then be on the floor was answered almost instantly as he raised himself on one elbow and squinted over Potter's head...

The second bed was occupied by Hermione. At first he felt a sharp pang of fear at the sight of her in a hospital bed; he had seen enough of that over the past week to last him a lifetime and then some- but it passed quickly enough, because it was quite apparent that she was not injured or unconscious; merely sleeping.

My God, she's gorgeous, Draco thought.

She lay on her side, facing him, one arm cradling her head on the pillow, the other dangling over the side of the bed. Her long, curly hair, released at last from the braids she had worn for the past few days, fanned out across her pillow and tumbled down over the side the bed along with her arm. The thin hospital blankets, pulled up to her waist, served only to accentuate the curve of her hips, and where the blankets ended he could see that she, like he and Harry, wore soft, white nightclothes. He thought her almost painfully beautiful to look at.

He remembered the last words he had spoken to Voldemort, words he had spoken when he was certain he would soon die, words he had spoken as he gazed at her, standing tall and defiant in the face of the monster who had sought to destroy her body and mind, sought and failed.

It's worth it.

He had made the decision that she was worth dying for, and he stood by that decision. But now..now he had to ask himself a new question; was she worth living for, when his whole world had been turned upside down by his actions, to the extent where death had seemed the easier and more appealing option?

The answer came almost instantly. Anything, his mind whispered as he stared, transfixed by her beauty; She's worth ANYTHING.

Hermione sighed prettily in her sleep, her breath stirring a stray curl that had fallen across her face. Draco smiled then, and the smile held such tenderness that it would have amazed anyone who knew him- not least of all himself.

His eyes wandered, then, back to the wands on the nightstand and he realized that there still remained the question of the last one. There must be someone else in the room as well. He was pretty sure he knew who the final wand belonged to, and a quick scan of the room confirmed it; on the other side of his bed, lying on a cloak spread on the floor, with his back against the wall, was Weasley. Also clad in white, also fast asleep.

Draco fell back onto his pillow and returned to his contemplation of the ceiling. Now amusement showed on his face. I've said it before and I'll say it again, he thought; I will never in a thousand years understand what makes these bloody Gryffindors tick. They're missing their own victory celebration- and why? To sleep in a hospital room- two out of three of them on the floor- with me. I wouldn't do it for them- well, sure, for Hermione- but not for Potter or Weasley...would I?

And now the look of amusement left his face to be replaced by one of confusion, because the answer to that question should have come quickly and easily- should have, but hadn't. His brow knitted in consternation, he repeated the question to himself; I wouldn't, would I? Would I? Still his mind, which had so readily answered his question about Hermione, remained silent and uncooperative. This was really starting to worry him. He tossed restlessly onto his side, intending to calm himself by drinking in the lovely sight of Hermione in the next bed some more, but his eyes were drawn instantly to Potter instead; Potter who was now awake and looking back at him.

*****

The two boys stared at each other for a long time in silence. Then a slow, sleepy smile spread across Harry's face and he whispered simply, "Malfoy."

Draco was amazed to feel his face split into an answering grin as he replied, "Potter...you stab-happy bastard." But the words were spoken without rancor, to the surprise of both boys. "You're missing your party," he added.

"It's yours as much as any of ours," Harry said. "We didn't want to go without you. Besides, we were all of us pretty tired."

Draco snorted. "Mine...right. I sincerely doubt, Potter, that any of MY housemates are down there celebrating."

Harry gave a slight shrug. "You may be right about the Slytherins, but that doesn't mean you haven't got well-wishers down there. You've achieved hero-status to the rest of the school. They all know that you were instrumental in Voldemort's defeat, and that you were gravely wounded in the battle but still fought on. What Dumbledore neglected to tell them was that you were wounded by...um...(here he dropped his eyes from Draco's and seemed to be intently studying the floor)...me."

"Look, Potter- I already told you if our roles had been reversed- if I had thought YOU were endangering Hermione- I'd have done the same. Only you'd be dead. So there's no hard feelings. About the stabbing thing, anyway. Bringing me back here against my will, now that's another matter." He flopped onto his back once more and sighed up at the ceiling. "I just don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do now," he said hopelessly. "I wasn't kidding when I told you that my parents will disown me, that the Slytherins will ostracize me, that the remaining Death Eaters will be out for my blood. Jesus, Potter, why didn't you listen when I told you I'd rather have just let it end back there? I don't belong anywhere anymore. I feel-" his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper- "I feel so alone."

Suddenly, before Harry even had a chance to react, Draco sat bolt upright in bed, a horrified expression on his face. "Aww, shit. SHIT!" he cried, staring at Harry with wide eyes. "I can't believe I just went and said that- to YOU! What is WRONG with me?!?" And he threw himself back down, this time on his stomach, burying his face in his pillow.

Harry was so taken aback that he did nothing for a long moment but stare, blinking in astonishment, at Draco lying face down on the bed with his arms criss-crossed over his silvery head. Then he climbed onto his knees, reached out toward Draco, shook his head, pulled his hand back, shook his head again, reached out, hesitated, and finally gripped Draco lightly on the shoulder. "Malfoy...?" He said awkwardly. He thought he heard a groan, muffled by the pillow. Then slowly, Draco turned his head just enough to regard him warily out of one ice blue eye.

"Potter?" Draco said, mimicking Harry's uncertain tone.

"I, um...you...ah...oh bloody, bloody hell." Harry raked both hands distractedly through his hair, trying to collect his thoughts. "I don't expect you to remember anything about the flight back here," he said finally, "but I um, I told you that if you pulled through I wanted another chance to shake hands in friendship and..and I meant it, so...uh...yeah." And he extended his right hand toward Draco.

Draco stared motionlessly from Harry's face to the outstretched hand and back for a long moment. Then slowly, he uncrossed his arms from atop his head and pushed himself up into a kneeling position, never breaking eye contact with Harry, who continued to hold his hand out steadily. "I remember you saying that," he said finally, slowly, "but I thought I was delirious."

Harry smiled. "So you said at the time. To which I replied, you heard me perfectly, Malfoy."

Still Draco did not reach for the proffered hand. He kept his eyes locked on Harry's for a long, long time- until the smile faded from Harry's face, until the green eyes flickered sadly and then lowered from his as Harry began to drop his hand, muttering "all right then, Malfoy..can't say I really bl-"

And only then, at the last possible second, did Draco's right hand shoot out, with a Seeker's speed and precision, and firmly clasp Harry's.

Harry's eyes flew back up to meet his, and Draco was astonished at the depth of emotion he saw in them. How can he let himself be so unguarded? He wondered. God preserve ME from ever wearing my heart on my sleeve like that- bad enough that little outburst a minute ago-

So he kept his pale eyes carefully neutral as he drawled out, "Well, Potter, if we're to be hero-worshipped together as you say, then I suppose we ought to make an effort to get along. For the sake of our public." And he pumped Harry's hand briskly before letting go. It was only after both boys had withdrawn their hands that he added, turning his eyes back up to the ceiling as he did so, "and I could really use someone to, er, watch my back around the Slytherins for a while."

Harry, who had returned to studying the floor as intently as Draco was studying the ceiling, replied quietly, "consider it watched, Malfoy. I know I speak for Ron and Hermione too. We're all gonna look out for you."

Draco's only response was an indifferent sounding grunt; it wouldn't do for Potter to know that at his words, Draco had felt an enormous weight lifted off his chest. This meant that he would be safe, at least in the corridors and other public areas of the school. Though he had been perfectly ready to die in Hermione's arms back at the ruins, he did not particularly wish to die at the hands of the Slytherins. He knew them- they were his own kind, after all- and he knew that death at their hands, now he was undoubtedly branded a traitor, would not be pretty. Of course, they would have to make it look like an accident- but considering that this was Hogwarts, where trolls were known to occasionally lurk in the bathrooms and each start-of-term feast was accompanied by a warning from Dumbledore of some new life-threatening horror on school grounds, it would not be difficult for his cunning housemates to concoct an "accident" that was both believable and...messy. He shuddered.

And then it dawned on him that for all that he was relieved by Potter's promise of vigilance, there was still the question of what the hell he was supposed to do to protect himself at night, when he would have to return to his dorm in the dungeons. Potter couldn't help him there. No one could. There was no way around it, he thought, shaking his head- he had brought this on himself and now he was well and truly f-

His train of thought was abruptly cut off by a sound of distress- halfway between a whimper and a sob- from the next bed. Whipping his head toward the sound, he saw that Hermione had twisted onto her back and was once again doing battle with her blankets. His own problems were wiped from his mind as, swearing under his breath, he launched himself out of his bed (clear over Harry, who was scrambling to his feet) and onto hers, inwardly cursing Voldemort for still being able to hurt her by haunting her dreams.

Her face was scrunched up and her eyes squeezed tightly shut as he gripped her by the shoulders and pulled her into a sitting position. She cried out and pounded both her fists once onto his chest before he pulled her tightly against him, his arms encircling her protectively and stilling her struggles. She stiffened for a moment, then went utterly limp, seeming to melt against him, and commenced crying as if her heart would break.

It took a long moment for him to realize that there were words mingled with her sobs, and longer still for him to begin to comprehend what those words were. Listening hard, he managed to make out a few breathless, tear-choked phrases; "...dead, isn't he...all my fault...have to see him...Harry, let me GO...DRACO!.........want to see, want to see...Harry, please..."

She thinks I'm Harry again, he realized. Or actually no- to be more accurate, what she thinks is that I'm DEAD and Harry's holding her. Are we really built THAT much alike?

Carefully unwrapping his arms from around her, he took her by the shoulders and pushed her back to arms' length, intending for her to look up and realize that all was well, but instead she dropped her face into her hands and continued to sob pitifully. He exchanged a look with Harry, who by now was perched on the edge of the bed, rubbing her back in gentle circles.

In her extreme distress, she appeared not to have noticed that there were, in fact, two separate people comforting her.

Harry leaned close to her and whispered in her ear, "Hermione, look up. It's all right- just- Hermione, love, look up." Slowly she raised her tear streaked face to Harry, who cupped her chin in his palm and turned her face toward Draco.

Her eyes flew wide, she sucked in a deep, hitching breath- and went utterly still, staring, just taking him in. Draco dropped his arms to his sides and gave her a small, uncertain smile. "I'm okay," he said simply.

Still she stared, one hand rising shakily to cover her mouth. Draco didn't quite know what to do. "Hermione-" he said, but was cut off because at that point the she threw herself at him with such force that the two of them toppled off the foot of the bed, landing on the floor in a tangle of blankets and white-clad limbs.

"Ooph," said Draco, who had landed on his back with Hermione squarely on top of him.

For her part, Hermione, straddling him, was caressing him, out of her mind with relief and needing to alleviate some of the fear and stress she had been under since first watching in horror as Harry's dagger had buried itself in his chest.

This rough treatment went on for quite some time, but Draco, sensing that she needed this on some deep level, neither said nor did anything to stop her. He simply lay there on the cold, hard floor beneath her and bore both the caresses and the slaps in silence until she wore herself out and collapsed on his chest, gasping for breath.

Only then did his hand come up and begin stroking through her now tangled hair. "Hermione," he murmured, and that was all, but he said it with such reverence in his tone; as if that one word, that name, embodied all that was good and wholesome and beautiful and pure in the world. All that was worth dying OR living for.

*****

Harry had watched all this from his perch on the edge of Hermione's bed, but now he turned his head away, feeling that he was intruding on a deeply intimate moment, and stared intently at the wall instead, trying to get a grip on his emotions in the wake of that scene on the floor.

He remembered telling Dumbledore, I think- I'm not sure- but I think he's in love with Hermione. Well, he was sure now. There was no longer the smallest sliver of doubt. The only question that remained was, did she love him back? And judging by her actions of the past few minutes, he had little doubt of the answer.

He chewed his lip, pensive. It had been over a year since he had realized that his feelings for Hermione extended beyond mere friendship- or rather, COULD extend beyond mere friendship if he should choose to allow them to. He had not chosen to allow them to. Instead, he had suppressed them out or respect for Ron; he knew, even if Ron refused to admit it, that his best friend was crazy in love with Hermione, and he absolutely refused to enter into a competition with him; it would tear the three-way friendship apart. Besides which, he had always felt that the two of them would be great together; that they were each other's missing halves and that, united, they would form a perfect whole; Ron's easygoing, fun-loving nature balanced out by Hermione's down-to-earth practicality, and vice-versa.

So the idea of his own feelings for Hermione going unrequited was nothing new to Harry, as he had long ago resigned himself to losing her to Ron whenever his best friend got around to finally declaring his love. But this- this was something else altogether. Hermione...and Malfoy??? He shook his head slowly. The world had gone topsy-turvy; this was never supposed to happen! And how was Ron going to take it?

Oh, hell.

Ron.

Suddenly remembering his best friend's presence in the room, Harry jerked his head toward where Ron had been sleeping against the opposite wall. Ron was, of course, awake, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, staring back at Harry over Draco's empty bed.

Even though he had known that Ron would take this hard, Harry was unprepared for the depth of misery he saw in his friend's dark blue eyes. It nearly took his breath away; the silent suffering, the acute agony in Ron's expression.

Harry's eyes flicked to Draco who, with both hands now wound through Hermione's thick hair, was drawing her tear-streaked face gently toward his, then back to Ron, who had now drawn up his knees and dropped his head forward onto them. Harry was frozen; he had no idea what to do. He opened his mouth to speak, to try to find some means of consoling his oldest friend, though he couldn't imagine what one should say under such circumstances.

And as it turned out, he was spared the awkward task of finding words of comfort that would suit the moment, because something happened then that none of them had expected, and that demanded the immediate and undivided attention of everyone in the room.

The door burst open and Lucius Malfoy strode in, his gray eyes glinting like cold steel.

In one fluid movement, he rolled out from under Hermione, thrust her behind him, and leapt to his feet, placing himself as a barrier squarely between his father and her. He was vaguely aware that Potter was pulling Hermione to her feet behind him. He was breathing hard, but his face betrayed no emotion as he faced his father, the two of them standing only inches apart, alike in build, height, coloring; in nearly every aspect. Only their eyes were different, and then only very slightly. Gray eyes like steel met blue eyes like ice, and neither flinched.

They stood like that for a long, tense moment before Draco broke the silence. "Father," was all he said.

"My boy," said Lucius, in a soft voice, as his eyes darted to the room's other occupants and then back to Draco; "the hero. You've done the wizarding world proud, son."

Draco's lip curled up in a sneer. He knew his father better than that. His words were like silk, but there was murder in his eyes. Draco had seen his father kill before; he knew that look.

I underestimated the old man, he thought with horrified awe; he didn't come here to disown me; he came here to KILL me! My own father. But he expected to find me alone- the fact that my friends- I mean the damn Gryffindors- the fact they're here has thrown him off. He won't want witnesses, nor will he want to take us all on at once. He's a coward at heart, why didn't I ever see it before? The next words out of his mouth will be trying to convince me to leave with him. Wait for it.........

Lucius reached out and clapped Draco heartily on the shoulder. "Naturally I came as soon as I could. Word was that you were terribly wounded in the battle- on the brink of death, they said. Gave me a bit of a scare, to tell the truth. But I see now that the rumors must have been somewhat exaggerated. I must say, you look remarkably well, Draco."

Draco said nothing. He was still waiting. Lucius gave him his patented "loving father" smile; the one that had been fooling Malfoy family friends and business associates all Draco's life. He wondered whether it was fooling the Gryffindors now or whether, like him, they could see through it to the malice beneath. And then came the words Draco had been expecting.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Lucius asked, raising an eyebrow. "Find your clothes, boy. You can't leave dressed like that, and we must get back the manor; your mother is frantic with worry; she is still under the impression that you are at death's door. We must go and put her fears to rest at once."

Draco felt an unexpected pang at these words, because on a very deep level he wished desperately that they were true. That his mother really was worried about his well-being. But he knew better. She had always been just as cold and distant a parent as his father- turning on the charm in front of others, but ignoring him at all other times. He well remembered his amazement when, on the first day of his first year at Hogwarts, an owl had arrived from home bearing sweets and a fond note from her; all that first term, as the packages had continued to arrive, his spirits had soared. Perhaps his absence, he thought, had made his mother realize that she truly did care for him after all. Then came the Christmas holidays. The first words she had spoken to him when he had arrived home had been about the packages; she had wanted to know what the other Slytherins thought of them. That was all that mattered to her; appearances. She wanted it to appear to Draco's housemates that she was a perfect, doting mother, but she warned him not expect "any of that nonsense" while he was home. Well of course not, he had thought bitterly, there's no one around to see now.

When he returned to school after Christmas he had burned all the notes he had been saving from last term in the common room fireplace. A few days later the packages had begun arriving again, but for the rest of the year and all the years that followed, he had handed them straight to Crabbe and Goyle without opening them. He had lost his taste for either the sweets or the notes.

It only took an instant for these painful memories to flash through his mind; then he was right back in the present again, facing down his father, man to man, for the first time in his life. When he tried to speak, his voice felt rusty; he had to clear his throat.

"I'm not going," he said.

Lucius's smile vanished, and his hand, still on Draco's shoulder, clamped down like iron. Someone with less self-control would surely have cried out at the sudden pain but Draco, who had suffered through being stabbed, through Voldemort's Cruciatus curse, and through the blood replacement serum all in silence, was not about to give his father that satisfaction. His eyes narrowed to slits and he stared mutinously at Lucius, who glared murderously back, all pretense gone.

"You try my patience, boy," he snarled. "I strongly suggest that you make yourself ready to come with me, right NOW!" At this last word, he yanked hard on Draco's shoulder, pulling him off balance and causing him to stumble forward. Draco probably would have crashed right into him, except that at that instant he felt a strong hand catch him by the other arm, pulling backward just as forcefully as Lucius was pulling forward. Lucius, who had not expected resistance, was so surprised that he let go. Draco, with the hand- Potter's hand, he realized- still on his arm, steadying him, stepped quickly backward and found himself flanked on one side by Potter and on the other by Hermione, both of whom had their wands leveled at his father. They must have retrieved their wands while he and his father were engrossed in their confrontation, he thought. On the other side of his bed Ron was on his feet as well, also pointing his wand straight at Lucius. He felt Hermione, who was on his right side, press his wand into his hand. Shifting it from his right hand to his left, he raised it toward his father as well, and spoke.

"I said, I'm not going."

Lucius surveyed the four teens before him, all in identical white pajamas, all with their wands trained on him and expressions of grim determination in their eyes. He hadn't counted on this- not at all. He had expected to find Draco alone, and according to the rumors, unconscious or worse. If he had found him already dead, so much the better- but if he had still been clinging to life, Lucius had been planning on killing him right there in his bed, figuring that everyone would assume he had died as a result of his injuries. How could he do otherwise, after the betrayal and dishonor Draco had brought on his family? Even Narcissa had agreed that there was but one course of action open to him. But now- though he never would have admitted it, he was at a loss. His errant son was not going to come willingly, that much was clear; and so, in the face of four wands leveled at him, he had no idea how to proceed. In the end, he did what he did best; he sneered.

"Well, well, well," he murmured, as his lip curled upward in that trademark Malfoy expression of disdain, "the Gryffindor Golden Trio. Imagine that." He stared hard at each of them in turn, then back at Draco, who was as pale as death, but was holding his wand perfectly steady. "So this is what you betrayed our cause for," he said quietly. "This is why you've thrown it all away. You could have had wealth and power beyond imagining, you could have helped to rule the world, but instead you chose this- the friendship of a half-blood orphan runt, a dirt-poor Weasley whose standard-issue hospital pajamas are probably nicer than any other piece of clothing he's ever worn, and this- this- filthy mudblood whore. Oh yes, I've heard all about her-" his cold eyes flicked to Hermione and then back to Draco- "the Dark Lord's little fuck toy. I just hope you realize there's no turning back now; you've made your bed and-"

WHAM.

Draco had dropped his wand to the floor and, closing the distance between himself and his father in one purposeful stride, punched Lucius squarely in the jaw.

In the next instant Harry and Ron had both lunged forward to drag Draco back. They held him pinned between them as he continued to struggle silently, straining to break free and throw himself at his father again. Lucius, for his part, stood motionless, staring at his son, paralyzed by rage. He was breathing hard and no longer looked the least bit cool or composed. To the contrary, his face was so contorted with fury that he looked quite insane. Then, very slowly and deliberately, he lowered his hand toward his belt, where his wand hung in a small silver sheath wrought in the shape of a serpent and studded with emeralds.

Draco stopped struggling against Harry and Ron and stared at his father, panting, his hair hanging in his eyes. It's all over, he thought, with a strange sort of detachment. He no longer cares about witnesses- I've pushed him well beyond that. Sort of funny really, when you think about it- the lengths Potter went to in order to save me from bleeding to death- just so that I could end up being Avada Kedavra'd by my own father.

And then Harry stepped calmly in front of Draco, placing himself as a shield between his father and him.

Despite his best efforts to maintain a neutral façade, Draco's amazement showed on his face. In his entire life, not one single person had ever- EVER- placed himself in harm's way for his sake. Not once. Lucius was taken aback as well and hesitated- and in that instant, before he had the chance to go for his wand again, a clear voice rang out. Hermione's voice.

"Reach for your wand again and I WILL kill you, Mister Malfoy," she said.

In the chaos that had followed Draco's attack on his father, Hermione had not moved a muscle. When Harry and Ron had leapt forward to pull Draco back, she alone had remained perfectly still with her wand trained on Lucius Malfoy's chest. It was still trained on his chest now, as she spoke again.

"The four of us took down Voldemort.....don't think we can't take you down as well."

Lucius stared at her, his eyes nearly bulging in shocked outrage. How DARE this little mudblood speak to him in such a manner?!? Any yet- there was something in the fierce expression on her face that caused him to drop his hand to his side rather than pull out his wand as he longed to do. He could tell that she was ready to make good on her threat.

"Father," said Draco very quietly, "I think you should leave."

Lucius's gaze now returned to his son. "This isn't over, Draco," he hissed.

"How right you are, Lucius, my old friend- it's only just begun," said a cheerful voice from the doorway, which made them all jump. Dumbledore stood there, smiling his usual twinkling smile. "The feast, I mean," he added in clarification, with an airy wave of his hand. "The night is young and the festivities are really just getting underway, and the presence of these four exemplary young people has been rather- ah- forcefully- requested by the other students as well as our many esteemed guests. I have come to bring them down to the Great Hall. Would you care to accompany us, Lucius?"

He beamed and twinkled all around. Only Harry, who knew him best, detected a hint of steely hardness beneath his jovial exterior. Or perhaps Lucius detected it too, because he ground out the words "No, thank you," though it sounded as if it were half-killing him to be polite.

"Ah," said Dumbledore, and he allowed his smile to fade just the slightest bit. "Regretful, but I understand, Lucius. No doubt you came when you heard the news of young Draco's injury- (I imagine you must have been beside yourself with worry)- and now that you have been reassured that your son is alive and well, I suppose you have other pressing matters to attend to. It is a busy time for us all."

"Yes, quite," Lucius agreed, sounding as though he were about to choke on the words. "I must get home immediately; Narcissa was in a state when I left and I must hasten to share the- the-" he glanced back at Draco and a muscle in his eye twitched- "good news with her and put her fears to rest." He nodded curtly in his son's direction, his eyes bright with hatred as he shot him one last malevolent look. "Draco," he said shortly by way of a farewell, and, as Dumbledore stepped aside from the doorway, he swept from the room.

*****

Immediately Dumbledore closed the door and came quickly to stand before Draco, concern written all over his kindly face. Reaching out, he clasped both hands firmly onto Draco's arms, just above his elbows, for which Draco was extremely grateful, because it was at that very moment that his legs seemed to give way and he was fairly certain that he would have sunk to the floor had not the headmaster been supporting him.

"Draco," Dumbledore said gently, "are you all right?"

Draco stared back at Dumbledore, his pale eyes wide with the shock of the confrontation. "He came here to kill me," he said slowly. "My own father. I mean, I knew he would hate me; I expected him to disown me; but....he came here to kill me. To KILL me." He shook his head then, seeming to come out of a sort of trance, and suddenly his eyes were back to normal; guarded and unreadable. "I'm sorry," he said. "I- I am fine, sir."

Dumbledore looked hard at him for a moment, then released him and stepped back. "The wards around the school will be adjusted so that your father cannot enter the Hogwarts grounds again without my being immediately alerted," he said. Draco nodded once in acknowledgement, still looking slightly dazed, though he was rapidly regaining his composure.

"And now, as to the feast," said Dumbledore, "we really should be going down. Nearly the whole school is there. The Slytherins preferred to remain in their dormitories, citing their concern over your condition, Draco, as their reason for being in a less than celebratory mood-"

("I wish people would stop going on about my CONDITION," Draco muttered in annoyance; "I'm not bloody pregnant!" Hermione giggled.)

"-but nevertheless," Dumbledore continued smoothly, though there was now amusement evident in his voice, "there are many, many students and faculty, as well as members of the Ministry and of the press, who are most anxious to greet the four of you. So- if you will excuse me for just a moment, I will step out and see if I can't discover what Poppy has done with your clothes." And he left, shutting the door again behind him.

Instantly, Draco sank onto the edge of his bed, dropping his face forward into his hands. Without a word, the others sat as well, Hermione beside him and Harry and Ron across from them on the edge of Hermione's bed. All four were quiet for a moment; then, without raising his head, Draco spoke hoarsely.

"Just what the HELL did you think you were doing with my father, Potter?!?"

"Trying to protect a friend," Harry answered promptly.

Draco now whipped his head up and his slate blue eyes were blazing with anger. "You and your bloody stupid hero act!" he shouted. "I can't believe how thick you are! Don't you understand, he wouldn't have stopped because of you. He would have been THRILLED to kill you first, and then me- he would have seen it as an added bonus! A bloody two-for-one special!"

Harry shrugged, apparently unconcerned. "I guess it's a good thing we have Hermione, then," he said, shooting her a grin.

At this, all Draco could do for a long moment was gape at him. Then, in an abrupt gesture, he raised both hands to his head, clenching fistfuls of his fine hair. For a few seconds, it really looked as though he were about to commence tearing his hair out in frustration, but instead he took a deep breath, ran his hands through the silvery tangle, and dropped them again. "Goddamn Gryffindors," he said, but the anger had gone out of his voice. "Never..never understand."

"I think you understand perfectly," Harry countered. "I think you'd have done the same for any one of us."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Don't flatter yourself, Potter." The fact that he knew deep down that Harry was probably right rankled him. DAMNED if he was going to admit it.

It was, perhaps, fortunate that Dumbledore returned at that precise moment. He was empty handed and wore an apologetic expression. "I am afraid I have been unable to locate either Poppy or your clothing," he said. "No doubt, having concluded that you were all healthy, she went down to join the celebration, which is where we should be as well. I'm afraid that you four will just have to go as is." Seeing the looks of incredulity starting to spread across their faces, he added, "there simply isn't time to send you all back to your dormitories to freshen up. I believe the crowd downstairs will start tearing down the walls if you don't put in an appearance soon. And after all," he said thoughtfully and with a distinct twinkle in his eye, "it is rather appropriate, wouldn't you say- the four heroes clad all in radiant white."

The four heroes in question stared at one another, nonplussed. Finally it was Hermione who ended the silence, her face breaking into a sudden and dazzling smile. "Well, why not?" she said, amused; "it's not as though it will be the first feast we've attended in our nightclothes. Remember second year?"

"But Hermione," Ron said in a long-suffering voice, "that feast began spontaneously, in the wee hours. Everyone got out of bed for it. The WHOLE SCHOOL was in their nightclothes. Now we'll be the only ones."

Hermione just shrugged. "I for one don't mind," she said simply, smiling at Dumbledore.

It occurred to Draco to wonder how Pansy Parkinson, the prissy princess of Slytherin and the girl he had been widely expected to fall in love with, would react to being requested to attend a feast, and a feast at which members of the press would be present no less, in her bedclothes. The image that came to his mind caused him to crack a small smile. Pansy would go into a transport of rage. And there it was, he realized; another of the thousand reasons he loved Hermione- it seemed he discovered a new one every day- she was willing to go to the feast in hospital pajamas. (Not to mention the way she had just faced down his father and saved his life....all right, that made two reasons for today.)

At Dumbledore's next words, however, the smile abruptly left his face.

"Besides which," the headmaster said, now looking straight at Draco, "I think white is the perfect color for you especially tonight, Mister Malfoy, considering what will be occurring at the feast with regard to you. Yes; pure, virgin white to symbolize a new beginning."

As far as Draco was concerned, there was so much wrong with this statement that he hardly knew what to address first. This "new beginning" Dumbledore had mentioned made him instantly and deeply uneasy, but far worse was the simple fact that the headmaster had used the word "virgin" in conjunction with him. Ron was sniggering openly and even Harry had snorted with mirth.

"I am NOT a virgin," he hissed mutinously, fixing Harry and Ron with a baleful glare before returning his attention to Dumbledore and asking, "what precisely will be happening with regard to me at the feast?"

"Something most unusual," Dumbledore replied mysteriously, "most unusual indeed." For a moment, it seemed as though he were disinclined to say anything further, but then, perhaps taking pity on Draco, who was beginning to look extremely nervous, he continued.

"You see, Mister Malfoy, something happened to me today which has never happened to me before in all my time as headmaster here. In fact, this has only happened five previous times in all of Hogwarts' long history. The most recent time being roughly three hundred years ago." He paused, appearing to be suddenly lost in thought.

Draco, on tenterhooks, ground out, "the most recent time WHAT?"

Dumbledore, seeming to return to the present, now fixed him with a piercing gaze. "Why, the most recent time the Sorting Hat informed a headmaster that a student is in need of resorting, of course."

A stunned silence greeted Dumbledore's astonishing words.

Draco, staring blankly at the headmaster as he attempted to process what he had just heard, was vaguely glad that he had already been sitting when Dumbledore had dropped his bombshell; he had the feeling that, had he been standing, his legs might have gone out from under him for the second time since awakening.

Dumbledore, for his part, was smiling benignly around at them all, seeming not the least bit perturbed. "Shall we go down, then?" he asked cheerfully. He cocked an ear to listen for a moment to the sounds of the celebration; a rumble that seemed to be rapidly swelling to a roar- "Though no one down there yet knows about the resorting, I daresay they can sense that something extraordinary is going on- and they will not tolerate being kept in suspense much longer!"

"Wait, just-" Draco swallowed convulsively- "just give me a minute. Just- I- I'm to be..."

"Resorted, yes." Dumbledore beamed at him.

"And I'm- I'm only the-"

"Sixth ever, in Hogwarts' thousand year history," Dumbledore finished brightly. "And might I add, Mister Malfoy, that the five who preceded you all went on to lead rather extraordinary lives and to be among the foremost witches and wizards of their respective times. They did great things, all of them. There have, indeed, been many books written on the subject."

"I'd like a listing of those books," Hermione interjected suddenly, her eyes alight with the near manic gleam they got when she was ready to plunge head-first into a quest for new knowledge. Harry, Ron and Draco all had the same thought at that moment; that she would run to the library right then if she thought she could get away with it.

Dumbledore beamed at her. "I shall do you one better than that, Miss Granger; you may come to my office and borrow the books themselves from my own personal collection- tomorrow. As for tonight-"

"I'm not going to be in Slytherin anymore." Draco's voice was pitched low; really, he was just musing to himself, trying to acclimate himself to this drastic change in his situation, but he spoke with such intensity that suddenly all other eyes in the room were riveted on him. Head bowed forward, massaging his temples with his fingertips, he failed to notice. "I'm not going to be in Slytherin anymore," he repeated, sounding stunned.

An expression of concern creased Dumbledore's face. "Draco," he said gently, peering deeply into Draco's eyes when he raised his head, "is this news unwelcome? Far be it from me to second guess the Sorting Hat- it has never, to my knowledge, been wrong in a thousand years, and in those rare instances when a resorting does take place, it has always been the result of a fundamental change within the resorted witch or wizard, not a mistake on the hat's part- but if you feel strongly that you would prefer to remain in Slytherin-"

"No," Draco said immediately, with the same quiet intensity, doubting that he would survive one night in the Slytherin dorms. "I'll take my chances with the hat. I just- this is a lot to- a lot to take in."

"Indeed it is," Dumbledore agreed equably, "but I truly do think it for the best. And I think that you will feel better, more settled, once your new House has been selected. I daresay this is rather exciting," he added, smiling around at Harry, Ron and Hermione before turning his attention back to Draco. "Three paths are now open before you; Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff- I wonder, which will it be?"

The headmaster either missed, or chose to ignore, the brief yet intense look of distaste that crossed Draco's face at the mention of Hufflepuff House- but Harry caught it and, remembering his very first conversation with Draco six years ago as they both stood on stools in Madam Malkin's robe shop, shot the blond boy a roguish grin behind Dumbledore's back. "I think you'd make a first-rate Hufflepuff!" he stage-whispered, receiving an icy glare for his pains.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, had crossed to the door and now gestured to them all with good-humored impatience. "It is high time- no, actually it is past time- that we went down. Come," he said.

The four teens stood and turned toward the door. Harry, sensing Draco's nervousness for all his attempts to hide it beneath his ingrained aloofness, clapped him bracingly on the back. Ron gave him a small, but nonetheless encouraging, smile. Hermione, for her part, slipped her arm through his, earning a surprised, though pleasantly so, glance from pale blue eyes. Then, all of them taking deep breaths at the thought of the reception that would await them in the Great Hall, they followed the headmaster from the room.

*****

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco made their way toward the Great Hall in Dumbledore's wake, at first walking four abreast but soon pairing off. Harry and Ron pulled a little bit ahead of where Draco and Hermione walked, still with linked arms, and Ron could be seen talking quickly and intently to Harry, with many dramatic accompanying hand-gestures. Hermione guessed that he was finally divulging to Harry the full story of their flight back to school, and her suspicions were confirmed when Harry suddenly stopped stock still, an expression of horror on his face, exclaiming, "NO!" He glanced at Hermione with wide, shocked eyes, then back at Ron, who was still talking. An instant later, he again made a one-word exclamation; "Snape!?!"

"What's this all about?" Draco asked, turning toward Hermione, but before she could answer, Harry had crossed the distance back to her and pulled her into a crushing hug. Startled, Draco let go her arm, as Harry held her close, face buried in her unruly brown hair, for a long moment. Finally releasing her, he took a step back and brought his hands up to frame her face. "I can't believe I almost lost you again," he said hoarsely, "and I didn't even know! Jesus Christ, Hermione- didn't I ask you not to scare me anymore!?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, then shut it again, at a loss for what to say as Harry's green eyes bore intently into hers. She thought she was saved from having to think of a response when they all heard Dumbledore, who had stopped halfway down the corridor, clear his throat meaningfully, but as it turned out, she was in no such luck. Seizing her arm, Harry pulled her forward to walk with him, insisting on hearing the tale recounted from her point of view, and leaving Ron and Draco to bring up the rear of the little procession.

Draco felt as though he had lead weights on his feet that were getting heavier and heavier the closer he got to the Great Hall. In an attempt to take his mind off the coming ordeal of his resorting, he asked Ron what he had been telling Harry in order to evoke such a powerful response. "Holy Shit!" was his only comment once Ron had finished recounting the story of Hermione's fall.

It was not until they had reached the top of the marble stairs which led down into the entrance hall that Ron stopped and held out an arm indicating his wish for Draco to stop too. Draco was only too happy to comply, thereby postponing for a few more seconds his arrival at the Great Hall, though Ron's uncomfortable expression told him immediately that the conversation he was about to have would be an awkward one.

Ron cleared his throat and glanced toward where Harry and Hermione were descending the steps (Harry with an arm slung protectively about her waist), then back at Draco. He could feel himself coloring despite his best efforts to maintain a cool façade. Though the fact that his cheeks were now almost certainly beet-red filled him with embarrassment and a strong desire to turn and flee from the boy who stood before him, flicking casually at some imagined particle of dust on his pristine white sleeve and exuding the aura of calm detachment he himself wished for but knew he lacked (if only he could have known that Draco was, if anything, more nervous than he- at least HE didn't have a resorting hanging over his head), he charged ahead with what he felt he had to say anyway.

"Listen, Malfoy- I wanted to, um, say that I'm really glad you recovered. You had us all worried for a while there, and I'd have felt really- that is to say, if you had-" he faltered, and Draco didn't make things any easier on him as he slowly, indolently raised his eyes from his sleeve and arched one brow in an expression of near-disdainful inquiry. Ron felt his frustration level beginning to rise as their eyes locked; deep oceanic blue clashing with pale arctic ice. His lips pressed into a thin line just as Draco's quirked upward with a hint of amusement.

No matter that they had joined forces to defeat the Dark Lord, Draco thought, he would never tire of baiting the Weasel. It was just too sinfully easy. But then Ron surprised him. He took a deep breath, rolled his eyes, and then...he too smiled. "Forget it, Malfoy," he said; "I'm gonna build up an immunity to you, so help me." And Draco, caught completely off guard by this unexpected response to his blatant attempts at provocation, actually laughed out loud- a short laugh, to be sure, but a genuine one.

"I'll just have to try harder then, Weasley," he said, but the blue of his eyes was no longer quite so arctic. "Now- what were you on about?"

"Three things," Ron said, with another glance at Harry and Hermione, who had now reached the bottom of the stairs, "and I'll make it brief." He had apparently regained his composure. "First, I truly am glad you're alive. Second, I appreciate you standing with us against You-Know-Who and I know- we all know- we couldn't have defeated him without you. And third-" here his eyes narrowed- "Hermione loves you, and if you ever- EVER- hurt her, I will rip off your balls and feed them to you. I want to be sure that we are perfectly clear about that."

Draco's eyes flew wide in an instant of utter astonishment, then narrowed down to slits as he stared at Ron who stared boldly back. The expression on Draco's face could easily have been misread as fury, but that actually wasn't it, not at all- it was respect; an emotion nearly alien to him.

My God, he thought, if anyone had told me a month ago that Weasley, of all people, would earn my respect...but it was true. It had begun as soon as he had realized that Potter and Weasley had gone after the Dark Lord on their own; it had intensified during the final stage of the confrontation when Weasley, while holding him up, had aimed his curse squarely at Voldemort's groin; and now, with this little speech, it was complete. Draco Malfoy, so help him God, respected Ron Weasley. He also felt something that he suspected might just be the beginnings of true friendship (another emotion he had little previous experience with) for Harry Potter, and he was definitely head-over-heels in love with Hermione Granger. He shook his head in bemusement at the twist his life had taken.

Ron, mistaking this head-shake for a negation of his words, gave an angry hiss, clenched his fists, and stepped toward Draco, but stopped in surprise when Draco leapt nimbly back, raising his hands, palms facing out, in a placating gesture. "Relax, Weasley," he said, "we're clear. Crystal."

Ron was amazed enough that Draco had backed down, but he was floored by what the blond boy did next; he hesitated for a moment, grimaced as he swallowed his pride (an extremely painful thing for a Malfoy to do) and then abruptly thrust out his right hand, the expression on his face nearly identical to the one Ron himself had worn when he had extended his own hand to Snape; hope of acceptance, fear of rejection, defiance as he steeled himself against the rebuff he felt sure was coming.

Ron took the proffered hand and shook it as if in a dream, not entirely convinced that after all the years of hatred, this was actually happening. "Dumbledore was right; you HAVE changed," he said wonderingly after they had let go.

Although he couldn't deny that it was true, this disgruntled Draco. "I still know how to push your buttons, Weasel," he drawled.

"DON'T call me-"

But at that moment, Hermione, from the foot of the stairs, yelled, "will you two COME ON?" thereby unknowingly averting any potential bloodshed.

*****

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Ron and Draco rejoined Harry and Hermione and the four of them turned toward Dumbledore and the Great Hall. They were somewhat surprised to find that the doors to the hall were closed, and standing on either side of them, like sentinels, were Sirius Black and Professor Snape. From beyond the doors came a low, excited murmur, but nothing like the noise they had heard from all the way up in the hospital wing.

Dumbledore, smiling, explained that the closed doors and the relative quiet on the other side of them were a result of the assembly within having been informed that they were at last on their way; this had been arranged to give them the opportunity for a grand entrance. The headmaster's eyes twinkled all the more at the certain knowledge that none of the heroes were all too keen on the thought of a grand entrance. Even Ron, who normally loved the limelight, was not currently in the mood. Sometimes, however, the desires of the many needed to be given precedence over those of the few. The student body of Hogwarts (minus the Slytherins), as well as the faculty and guests, desired a grand entrance, and that was what they were about to get.

First, however, the little group was approached by Sirius and Snape. Sirius embraced Harry warmly, and revealed that, as the ones who had recovered the bodies of the fallen Dark Lord and his henchman, he and Snape were to enter right behind the four teens, and he was to receive an official pardon at the feast.

As Harry, Ron and Hermione celebrated this news with Sirius, Snape beckoned Draco a little ways off to one side. "I am very relieved to see you up and about again," the Potions Master said without preamble in a low, intense voice. "When Potter came crashing through that window with you, I-" he paused and raked a hand through his dark hair in an uncharacteristically anxious gesture- "I thought I had lost a very promising student and, what's more, a good friend."

Draco was extremely taken aback at this. Though Snape had taken him under his wing almost immediately upon his arrival at Hogwarts, he had never before, in the six years since, spoken words of outright concern to him; much less friendship. And there was more-

"I want you to know," Snape was saying now, "that I am truly proud of what you did. Not of all the school rules you broke," he qualified, dark eyes suddenly flashing, "but you were instrumental in delivering the world from a great evil. When you first arrived at this school as an eleven-year-old child, I thought I saw the potential in you to be more than just another of Voldemort's mindless followers. Although I had nearly lost hope during the intervening years, you have now proved my initial judgment to be correct. Also," he continued after a slight pause, "I've been informed of your imminent resorting. I would be lying if I said I was thrilled by the news; as a Slytherin myself I must tell you that I believe it is a great loss to the House. However, I can appreciate that it makes sense from a practical standpoint, and in any event, there is no arguing with the Sorting Hat. I would just like you to remember that, whatever house you are sorted into tonight, you will always have a friend in me." He reached out and clasped Draco's shoulder- it was a small gesture, yet profound in the emotion it conveyed.

"I- I will remember, Professor," Draco stammered, his usual air of cool indifference stripped away in the wake of Snape's words. He felt as though he should say more, but he was stunned- his mind whirling as he attempted to absorb Snape's expression of pride and unconditional support, in addition to everything else that had happened to him since he had awakened.

And then there was no more time, because Dumbledore was beckoning him back over to rejoin the three Gryffindors, Snape following behind and taking up his position in the rear beside Sirius Black. Draco, standing once again four abreast beside Harry, Ron and Hermione, just had time to glance back at his mentor (never would he admit that he was seeking a last hint of reassurance before facing the Sorting Hat) and to see, to his further amazement, the two men engaged in a handshake- brief, but spontaneous- nothing that had been forced on either of them, just a mutual congratulations on their successful recovery mission.

Then, with a wave of his hand, Dumbledore caused the massive double doors before them to fly open, revealing the Great Hall and the hundreds upon hundreds of people who were congregated within. Stepping quickly to the side, the headmaster allowed the eager throng to get its first glimpse of the four reluctant heroes, standing uncertainly in the doorway, looking slightly dazed, barefoot and wearing hospital-issue pajamas.

Simply put, the crowd went wild.

*****

There was an explosion of sound so great that it startled the centaurs deep in the heart of the forbidden forest from their stargazing. The crowd, which was packed from wall to wall, the four long House tables having been temporarily removed from the room, threatened to swarm Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco immediately, but Dumbledore walked ahead of them through the room, clearing a path through the sea of people toward the raised dais at the far end. The four white-clad teens followed him, single file now; there was no room to walk abreast anymore as the crowd pressed in from all sides.

Reaching the platform upon which the staff table stood (now pushed back against the far wall) Dumbledore led them, followed by Snape and Sirius, up onto it. Once they were all standing along the edge of the platform, in front of the table, the headmaster raised his hands, invoking silence. Immediately a hush descended on the room so profound that one could have heard a pin drop. The only disturbances were the flash and click of the cameras zealously wielded by the press photographers and, of course, a certain Gryffindor fifth-year by the name of Colin Creevy.

"I'm sure that the four young people you see standing here before you need no introduction," Dumbledore said, beaming out at the crowd, which answered with a great roar. "Nor do you need to be told exactly what it is they have accomplished," the headmaster continued when the sound had died down again, "as I am sure that every person present is aware that the Dark Lord Voldemort is no more; he was destroyed yesterday along with his most vile henchman, Peter Pettigrew, who, it has just come to light, betrayed Lily and James Potter to his master and staged his own death sixteen years ago, thereby sending an innocent man to languish in Azkaban. The bodies were recovered today by our own professor Severus Snape and by Sirius Black, the person most wronged by Pettigrew beside the Potters."

These words were greeted by another massive eruption of applause from the audience. Once silence was restored to the hall, an award ceremony commenced, with the Minister of Magic ascending the dais and proceeding to give Sirius his pardon and to award the Order of Merlin, First Class, to him and Snape, then to all four teenagers. At least, that was the intent- but when it came time for Harry, who had been left till last, to receive his award, he flatly refused to accept it from Fudge. As out of character as it was for Harry to display such stubbornness, especially under circumstances that were so- well, public- he simply could not reconcile himself to receiving the suddenly fawning attention of a man who had at one time as much as called him a deranged lunatic, and who had, over the course of the intervening years, displayed nothing but small-mindedness, short- sightedness, a blatant refusal to come to terms with reality, and general intense stupidity.

Fudge, for his part, incensed at Harry's rebuff, made as if to storm off the stage with Harry's medal still in hand- but was brought to a halt when he realized, by way of a growing rumble that was not, this time, applause, that the crowd was about to revolt if Harry did not get his award. Irate, Fudge thrust the award at Dumbledore before huffing from the stage and, indeed, from the room.

Dumbledore turned to Harry, eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth, and, without a word, placed the medal around the Gryffindor's neck as Harry bowed his head, immediately, in humble acquiescence. This done, the headmaster once again gestured for silence over the tumultuous applause.

"And now a most extraordinary event shall take place," he said; "something that no one in this room has ever witnessed before; nor have any of our parents, nor have any of our grandparents. An event that has only happened five previous times in the history of this institution, the most recent being over three hundred years ago. Minerva, if you please-" and he looked in the direction of the double doors which Fudge had recently exited. The crowd swiveled their heads with bated breath, waiting to see what this new development was. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the hall as Professor McGonagall entered, calmly and unhurriedly walking the length of the hall bearing the Sorting Hat and its accompanying three-legged stool.

Up on the dais, Harry, who was on Draco's left side, clapped his shoulder in reassurance, while Hermione, on his right, sought his hand and entwined her fingers with his, squeezing gently. These gestures of camaraderie went unnoticed by the crowd, whose collective attention was focused on McGonagall as she reached the front of the room, set the stool down before the dais, placed the hat upon it, and moved to stand beside Dumbledore.

"The Sorting Hat," said the headmaster, "informed me today that a student is in need of resorting. Indeed-" he raised his voice slightly as startled exclamations erupted throughout the hall- "as I anxiously paced my office this morning, it was through the hat that I learned Mister Malfoy would in fact recover from the grievous wound inflicted on him in the battle with Voldemort (Harry winced), because were he about to die as we had feared, he would hardly need to be resorted, now would he?" Turning to face the four teens as the crowd murmured in amazement, he smiled kindly at Draco and, with a sweeping motion of his arm, indicated the stool and hat. "Step forward, Mister Malfoy," he said; "your destiny awaits."

Draco felt Hermione give his hand one final squeeze before he disengaged and, with his heart thudding in his ears, descended the dais and numbly approached the stool. As he reached it and picked up the hat, hundreds of pairs of eyes riveted on him, he found (though he would never admit, not for all the gold in Gringott's) that he was nearly panting with fear; his breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts. Facing the hat was far more intimidating than facing Voldemort had been; during that confrontation, he had been so high on rage and adrenaline, not to mention in so much bloody pain thanks to Potter, that it had left little room for fear. Now, with the Sorting Hat in his hands and an uncertain future looming over his head, he was terrified.

He stood there, clutching the battered old hat, for a long moment, hearing Potter's gently teasing voice in his mind- you'd make a first-rate Hufflepuff- then suddenly, he shook his head to clear it, swallowed hard, and, in an abrupt, decisive movement, sat on the stool and jammed the hat roughly down on his head.

He was fleetingly surprised at how well the hat fit him- the last time he had worn it, though it had been only for the merest fraction of a second before he had been resoundingly proclaimed a Slytherin, it had threatened to slip down and engulf his entire head. Now it fit perfectly, as though tailor-made for him.

These thoughts were erased from his mind, however, the instant the hat first spoke. His whole body jerking in surprise as though he had just received a jolt of electricity, he squeezed his eyes tightly closed against the intent collective gaze of the crowd. This was between the hat and him.

"Well, well," said the hat, in a dry, amused sort of tone, "I have been waiting for you all day. The hero, at last."

Draco gave a mental snort of derision.

"Ah, you still don't believe it, do you?" the hat asked in the same amused tone. "You will play along and accept their accolades, for such is your nature, but in your heart don't believe. Well, no matter- those who think themselves heroic seldom are. Now, as for your resorting.....how well I remember the first time we met. I could tell from the moment you picked me up, before you placed me on your head at all, that you were Slytherin to the core. Both your parents descended from generations of Slytherins, I believe? But one needs more than bloodlines to be sorted into a House; one must have the proper mentality for it- and you had that too, in abundance. But now....my, how things have changed. Tell me, my heroic young friend, do you know whose hat I actually was- whose head I graced before any other?"

No, Draco thought blankly, surprised and confused by this unexpected question.

"I've mentioned it several times in my songs," said the hat, sounding rather insulted.

Oh, Draco thought, um.....he was now wishing fervently that he had, even once, paid attention to the Sorting Hat's songs, instead of whispering and sniggering through them with Crabbe and Goyle.

"Never mind," said the hat; "I doubt you are the only student whose mind has wandered. I do not intend to sit here and make you guess. I belonged to Godric Gryffindor."

Draco gave a mental exclamation of surprise, as the hat continued; "Yes, although each of the four founders endowed me with the ability to identify students who would meet their respective criteria, it was Godric Gryffindor that I knew longest and best. He and Salazar Slytherin were great friends; did you know that? No? Well, few people do anymore. Nearly broke my owner's heart when Slytherin turned on him. A sad thing it is, when friendship turns to hatred- but unfortunately, not uncommon. Much rarer is when hatred turns to friendship, or even to love......and yet you have experienced both, and it has changed you- indeed it has. Changed you to the point where, knowing Godric as I did, I am confident he would agree with me when I say that (your inattentiveness to my songs aside) never in a thousand years have I come across another student that I think is a truer example of a-

"GRYFFINDOR!"

A stunned Draco lifted the hat from his head. For a long moment, there was deep silence. Then, pandemonium reigned.

It was a happy pandemonium.

Very slowly and carefully, moving in a daze as the crowd all around him erupted into wild cheers, Draco stood, placed the hat back on the stool, and turned to look behind him, his eyes instantly seeking for the one person above all others whose reaction he truly cared about- Hermione. He found her right away, standing on the platform directly behind him, her face radiant with joy. Without a word, she leapt off the edge of the dais toward him. His seeker reflexes, restored along with his health, kicked in once again and he caught her easily around the waist and lowered her to the floor, swinging her in a full circle as he did so.

Her arms locked about his neck, his hands still resting on her waist, Hermione looked up at him, eyes alight. "Welcome to Gryffindor," she said, and although she spoke softly, he heard her with piercing clarity over all the jubilant noise that filled the hall; heard her as though they were the only two people in the room, or indeed, on Earth.

"I hope I get to bunk with you," he replied, grinning, but his grin faded quickly as he saw her smile flicker and a dark shadow flash behind her eyes. It was gone almost as soon as it appeared, but still he fumed at himself; Jesus Christ, what the hell is the MATTER with me?!? She was just raped, for God's sake- like she's gonna want to think about bunking with ANYONE for a long time! I'm such a bloody fucking idiot!

But by the time these thoughts had run their course and he opened his mouth to apologize, the darkness that had briefly clouded her expression was gone and she was laughing. Slapping at him playfully, she exclaimed, "don't be fresh, Malfoy!"

And then there was no more time to talk, because Harry and Ron were back, flanking them, followed by Dumbledore, Sirius, Snape and McGonagall, and Draco found himself shaking hands all around; McGonagall welcoming him to his new House, and Snape giving him a hard, piercing stare when his turn came, but then softening his mouth into the barest hint of a smile and shaking his head as if to say, well, that just figures, doesn't it?

It was when he was shaking Harry's hand for the second time that day that a disturbing thought occurred to him; "Potter," he said suddenly, "what the bloody hell are we going to do about quidditch?"

Harry's eyes widened, indicating that he hadn't yet thought of this. But, just like a moment earlier with Hermione, further conversation was rendered impossible as the little group suddenly found themselves in the center of a swirling, constantly changing vortex of well-wishers clamoring for their attention.

They first were overcome by a tidal wave of red hair and freckles; the entire Weasley clan. Arthur, Molly and all their offspring; those who still attended Hogwarts as well as those who had moved on, descended on them with hugs, kisses and chatter galore.

While Ron rolled his eyes and took his family in stride, and Harry and Hermione accepted their attentions with good humor but with the air of those who had been through all this before, it was a completely novel experience for Draco to be surrounded by the grinning, laughing Weasleys, all talking over each other, all exuding joy and goodwill. Bill, Charlie and Percy shook his hand, the first two warmly, the latter with a pompous stiffness that Fred and George mimicked gleefully behind his back. As for the twins, they proclaimed themselves to henceforth be Crabbe and Goyle's replacements, and took up positions at his elbows, shadowing his every move while glaring about threateningly, scratching their heads and picking their noses. Ginny gave him a shy look, from beneath her lashes, of the sort that had previously been reserved for Harry alone, and Arthur punched him lightly on the shoulder in a fatherly manner. It was Molly though, who amazed him most. Reaching up with both hands, she grasped his face firmly and, pulling him down so that they were eye-to-eye, murmured, "Thank goodness you're all right, dear! We are so very proud of you and I know you'll make a wonderful Gryffindor!" And she kissed him soundly on both cheeks and his forehead before releasing him.

Draco felt a rush of guilt over all the horrible things he had said about her in the past, followed by the beginnings of a deep admiration and affection for the kind little woman beaming up at him. He made a mental note to apologize to the Weasel at a later time, and tell him that his mum was nice. She was, in fact, ideal; the kind of mother (he would not tell Weasley this bit) that he had fantasized about throughout his lonely, isolated childhood.

And then the Weasleys were gone (except for Fred and George, who remained steadfastly at Draco's elbows like a pair of identical flame-haired bookends, grunting and scratching their armpits despite his increasingly irritated efforts to shake them off) and all of Gryffindor House was descending on them, led by the other sixth years, and Draco found himself right in the thick of the whooping, shoulder-clapping, jumping-up-and-down Gryffindor exuberance that he had witnessed from afar for six years with a sneer on his face and secret envy in his heart. He was astonished now at how easily and smoothly he was accepted- not a single one of his new Housemates showed any qualms in welcoming him warmly to the "family". He was back-clapped, shoulder-punched, hand-shook, and even hugged by a few of the girls (Lavender in particular, who had harbored a powerful crush on him for three years and had often lamented to her best friend Parvati that someone so good-looking should be a Slytherin asshole, pressed herself against him VERY suggestively) until he was left feeling slightly shaky and disoriented. Even Neville, who had suffered unparalleled cruelty at Draco's hands for six long years, ever since the remembrall incident during the very first week they had been at Hogwarts, appeared to hold no grudge. He greeted Draco in his own quiet, earnest way, offering his hand without hesitation.

Once Draco's status as the newest Gryffindor was thus established and the members of the House had all given their seals of approval, the rest of the students, mingled with various staff members, ministry officials, and representatives of the press, converged upon the tight-knit little group. Harry had just managed to fend off Rita Skeeter, (against whom, Draco noticed, he, Ron and Hermione seemed to bear a sizeable grudge,) when the attention of all those in the hall was once again requested by Dumbledore up on the dais.

Considering the nature of the headmaster's announcement, which was that the dancing was about to commence for the fourth years and above, and would last until dawn (Ron groaned aloud in dismay when he realized that they must have slept through the actual eating portion of the feast), and that, furthermore, all classes were to be cancelled for the remainder of the week (this being only Monday night) in celebration of their immense victory, ecstatic applause once again met his words.

The hall began to empty somewhat as the ministry officials and members of the press, who had come primarily to witness the award ceremony and had little interest in staying to attend a high-school dance, departed and the disgruntled younger students were led by their prefects back to their Houses, protesting all the way. Where there had been standing room only, there was now suddenly space to move about and breathe a bit more freely; room for the dancing to commence.

With a few waves of Dumbledore's hand, the torchlight in the hall dimmed dramatically, the head table vanished altogether from the dais to be replaced by enchanted instruments which immediately struck up a tune, and the ceiling, for once not reflecting the sky outside, began to shimmer with aurora borealis and showers of falling stars. Gasps filled the hall as thousands of tiny white sparks, cool to the touch, began drifting down upon the remaining students, a tangible extension of the star showers above.

Harry, Ron, Draco and Hermione remained for a moment, standing at a loss near the foot of the dais, as all around them couples began pairing off to dance. Then Dumbledore appeared beside them and beckoned them once again to follow him, which they did gladly, leaving behind, to Draco's immense relief, the Weasley twins, who looked for all the world like petulant children whose favorite toy had just been snatched away. He led them to the small parlor off the hall that Harry had first laid eyes on when his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire during their fourth year. Within the little room a merry fire blazed and two tables had been set up. A long table placed against the wall was laden with a vast array of foods from savory to sweet, while in front of the fireplace a small round table had been set for four, with golden plates waiting to be filled from the private feast laid out for them and huge mugs of rich, frothy-

"Butterbeer!" Ron moaned, in a veritable transport of delight.

"Indeed, Mister Weasley," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling; "and may I add, that particular indulgence was not present at the larger feast earlier; it was saved exclusively for the four of you. So- eat and drink your fill- the mugs are self-replenishing- and then you may rejoin the festivities whenever you see fit. Now if you'll excuse me-" and his eyes were now positively dancing with mirth - "I've promised dances to both Sybil and Minerva, and those two do have a tendency to get- ah- competitive. I had better go before things turn ugly out there." And he left the four of them staring at each other, aghast.

"Oh God," Draco muttered a moment later, finally breaking the stunned silence that had descended upon them following the headmaster's departure; "Could this day get any more bizarre? Trelawney and McGonagall fighting over Dumbledore-" he raised one hand to massage his temple in a gesture of weary bemusement- "that's more than I ever wanted to know about any of them."

The others agreed fervently, then they all fell ravenously upon their private feast.

The better part of an hour passed in companionable silence as the four teens gorged themselves; it was now late Monday evening and the last time any of them had eaten was Saturday night, when Harry and Ron had shared sandwiches beside their campfire and Draco and Hermione had hurriedly raided the Hogwarts kitchens before racing off after them.

The better part of another hour passed as they sat, comfortably full, talking in front of the cheerful blaze in the fireplace, too stuffed to even think about dancing. Harry, Ron and Hermione filled Draco in on the politics of Gryffindor House, and they talked at length about the quidditch issue- the following year both Harry and Draco had been planning to be team captains, as well as to continue as seekers for their respective teams. Now of course, that would be quite impossible, as they shared a House and therefore a quidditch team. After much discussion, they decided that the only fair solution would be for one of them to be seeker and the other to be captain, but in a different position (probably beater, since Fred and George were currently in their last year at Hogwarts and next year their positions would need to be filled), and that they would let the team decide which of them should be which. That would take care of next year- in the mean time, Draco would be the team's reserve seeker, in case Harry should be unable to play for any reason. As this was extremely unlikely, it was fairly certain that Draco would simply have to forego quidditch for the rest of sixth year.

This prospect depressed him briefly, for he truly did share Harry's passion for the game, but eventually his mind turned to dancing and he brightened. The group that would come to be known as the "Gryffindor Four" had been sequestered in their private chamber for two hours now, and were about ready to rejoin the festivities in the Great Hall which, they could clearly hear, were still going strong despite the fact that it was now past midnight.

Standing, Draco extended a hand to Hermione. He enjoyed dancing and was very good at it, having actually been given years of private ballroom dancing lessons as part of his genteel upbringing. However, he had never to date found a partner that was, in his "humble" opinion, worthy of him; Pansy, for one, definitely had two left feet. She was worse than Potter, if that was possible. In fact, since their fourth-year Yule Ball, he had often thought that it would be highly amusing to watch Pansy dance with Potter and place bets on how many times during the course of one song the two of them would end up in a heap on the floor.

Now he raised one eyebrow, quirked his lips into a faint smirk that bore no real malice, and drawled out, "think you can keep up with me on the dance floor, Granger?"

Hermione's eyes flashed at the challenge. "You'd better believe it, Malfoy," she retorted, taking his hand.

Harry glanced at Ron with some concern, in order to gauge his reaction, but to his surprise and relief he found Ron looking rather amused by the exchange. Ron, catching his eye, shook his head as if to say, he has no idea what he's getting into!

Harry rolled his eyes and grinned, then draped an arm about his best friend's shoulders.

With that, the four of them reentered the still dazzlingly enchanted Great Hall.

*****

As it turned out, Draco and Hermione would have to wait hours for their dance.

As soon as they emerged from the parlor, Lavender, who apparently had been lurking by the door, literally hurled herself at Draco. She either failed to notice or chose to ignore the fact that he and Hermione had linked hands, and, never having been a shy sort of girl, she grasped Draco firmly by the arm and pulled him, too shocked to resist, onto the dance floor with a breathless exclamation of "ohmygoshIamsogladyouguysfinallycamebackOUTyousimplymustgivemethisdanc eDraco seeyoulaterHermioneIthinkSeamusislookingforyoutodancesokeepaneyeoutOKbye!&q uot;

Within the next few seconds, a blushing but nevertheless determined Ginny had claimed Harry and Parvati had swooped down on Ron. Hermione was left standing bewildered until, true to Lavender's prediction, Seamus appeared at her elbow and whisked her away to dance.

The four heroes found themselves to be in high demand all night. The festivities continued with unabated energy and enthusiasm into the wee hours and Harry, Ron, Draco and Hermione found themselves changing partners with each new song- sitting out was not an option for any of them, as they were all so eagerly sought after. The tight-knit little group that had emerged from the parlor together soon found themselves widely separated and each surrounded by a different group of admirers awaiting a turn to dance.

Following his initial dance with Ginny, Harry danced with, among others, Parvati, Lavender, Cho, and Hannah Abbot. Ron, after Parvati, danced with Lavender, Hannah, Ginny, (in a sweet, big-brotherly way), and a number of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw girls whose faces he recognized but who he couldn't quite place- but who, to his immense satisfaction, all seemed to know a great deal about him. Both Harry and Ron were also able to procure one dance each with Hermione, to the delighted applause of the other Gryffindors.

Hermione, for her part, in addition to Seamus, Ron and Harry, danced with Dean Thomas, Colin Creevy, both Weasley twins, Terry Boot of Ravenclaw, Justin Finch-Fletchly of Hufflepuff, and many others. Breathless from being whisked about the dance floor by so many admiring partners, she nevertheless found herself constantly scanning the room for flashes of silver-blond hair. Whenever she managed to catch a glimpse of Draco she would attempt to steer herself and her partner of the moment toward him- but to no avail. They always seemed to be separated by a sea of people.

As for Draco, he found himself being partnered by Parvati, Lavender, Ginny, Lavender, some simpering round-faced Hufflepuff, Lavender, That Chang girl that strung Potter along for two years, Lavender....they danced with varying degrees of skill (Lavender definitely had some moves, though they were not of the genteel variety Draco was accustomed to), but he considered none of them to be a truly worthy partner. He may have played a pivotal role in delivering the world from Voldemort's evil and discovered the beginnings of friendship and love, he may have experienced a monumental shift in his priorities and discovered reserves of courage and integrity that he had never known he possessed, but his arrogance and conceit remained, to a large degree, intact. And these girls bored him with their simpering, their fluttering eyelashes, and in Lavender's case, provocative dance moves. He was becoming increasingly agitated by his inability to fight his way over to the only girl in the room that interested him. He found his eyes constantly scanning the hall for flashes of white pajamas amid the sea of black robes; for a magnificent, untamed mane of dark curls falling free amongst all the painstakingly arranged hairstyles that seemed to defy gravity through the use of myriad jeweled ornaments and no small amount of magic.

At about three in the morning, there was a brief lull in the dancing as the enchanted instruments were replaced by a live wizard band and one of the four long House tables reappeared, against a wall, laden with refreshments. During the ensuing rush on the refreshment table, Draco and Hermione, who had locked eyes from opposite sides of the room, made their way toward each other with single-minded determination. A distance of several feet was all that separated them when the band, which played both wizarding and muggle favorites (and had indeed been selected by Dumbledore for precisely that reason), struck up a rendition of Unchained Melodies and Hermione and Draco found themselves instantly seized by Neville Longbottom and- what a surprise- Lavender.

Draco had had about enough of Lavender's advances and was more than ready to shake her off, but Hermione had not yet danced with Neville and one look at his face was all it took to convince her that he had been screwing up his courage all night for this moment. The fear of rejection was so apparent in the shy boy's eyes that, despite her nearly desperate desire to be in Draco's arms, she relented. She gave Neville a warm smile, shot Draco an almost imperceptible head-shake, and reluctantly allowed herself to be led into easily the most clumsy dance of her night by the nervous, bumbling boy.

Shoulders slumping ever so slightly in defeat, Draco submitted to yet another dance with Lavender. Half the boys in the school would have given practically anything to have been in his position at that moment; Lavender really was very pretty, and very alluring, especially when she was turning on the charm as she was now, and was one of the most sought-after girls in the school. But she held no appeal whatsoever for the newest Gryffindor. In fact, now that he was close enough to have an unobstructed view of Hermione, his eyes never left her for the duration of the dance- nor did hers leave him.

As Hermione winced repeatedly due to Neville stepping on her feet, and as Draco resignedly endured Lavender's gyrations against him, their eyes remained locked together. They turned in slow circles to the music with their partners, but always they swiveled their heads so as not to break eye contact with one another. They may not have been dancing with each other literally- but they were drinking one another in; dancing with their eyes.

The song ended. Hermione would never remember later just how she had extricated herself from Neville, but undoubtedly she did it kindly because it was not in her nature to do otherwise, and because Neville was seen by many wandering away in a happy daze, muttering, "I asked her, and she danced with me...I asked her and she danced with me!"

The next thing Hermione remembered was standing in front of Draco with only inches separating them, eyes still locked together, though they were not yet touching. Lavender, still clinging to Draco's arm, suddenly seemed to sense a threat to what she had come to view, over the course of the night, as her territory, and attempted to pull Draco away toward the refreshment table with another of her breathless exclamations; "ComeonDracoletsgoseewhatthereistoeatIamabsolutelyfamishedandjustabout toEXPI REfromthirstdoyouthinkyoucouldpourmeanicecold-"

But this time, unlike her earlier ambush, she did not have the element of surprise on her side. This time Draco and Hermione WOULD NOT be parted. Draco stood rooted to the spot, resisting the insistent tugging on his arm, not even looking at Lavender; his attention was focused solely on Hermione. Who, gazing back as if entranced, suddenly recognized the look of irritation growing behind the pale blue eyes; irritation at Lavender for ruining the moment with her incessant tugging and chatter; irritation that was about to boil over. Violently.

Not wanting Draco to say or do anything in anger that would cause a permanent rift between him and his new housemates, Hermione spoke first, hoping to avert catastrophe. "Lavender," she said, wrenching her eyes away from Draco's long enough to flash her dorm-mate a winning smile, "Draco here promised me a dance while we were eating dinner, and since it's getting so late I really think it's time I collected."

Lavender's mouth opened, then closed. When Hermione moved to take Draco's other arm, however, she found her voice again. "But...I....."

"Lavender," Hermione said firmly, though her smile never faltered, "I must insist."

Still Lavender clutched Draco's arm. Fortunately Harry, displaying his usual impeccable sense of timing, chose just that moment to appear out of the crowd at Lavender's elbow and request the honor of the next dance. Lavender, unable to resist the lure of a second dance with the Boy-Who- Lived, allowed herself to be led away by Harry (who winked mischievously at Hermione over his shoulder), but not without a longing backward glance at Draco.

And then the music was starting again and to Hermione's amazement Draco, a faint smile hovering about his lips, bowed- he actually BOWED to her- she hadn't seen him do that to anyone else all night- and murmured, one eyebrow raised suggestively, "Miss Granger, may I have this dance?"

Allowing Draco's arms to encircle her felt like coming home.

A wave of contentment washed over her and she let her head fall forward against Draco's chest, moving effortlessly with him to the music. She could hear the steady thudding of his heart beating beneath her ear, and, remembering how close that heart had come to stopping forever, tightened her arms about him, nestling her head into the hollow below his throat.

As for Draco, he had come to the sudden, awed realization that he had at long last found himself a worthy partner. Though at the moment they were doing little more than swaying to the music, Hermione moved with such innate grace, and followed his lead with such perfect attunement, that he had no doubt she would be able to follow him through the most difficult dance moves with ease. It was as though it was one of the very few things in her life that she felt no need to think about, to rationalize; it just came naturally.

And suddenly he wanted to teach her, teach her everything he knew; because here, he realized, was the only partner he would ever need. Here was a partner to last him a lifetime. He never wanted to dance with anyone else again.

Burying his nose in the abundant curls atop her head, he inhaled deeply the sweet scent of her hair. "Hermione," he murmured, in the same reverent tone he had used on the floor of his hospital room. Hearing her name, she raised her head and smiled up at him, eyes inquisitive. "Hermione," he said again, and not knowing what else to say, bent his head and kissed her.

It was an entirely different sort of kiss from the one they had shared previously, on Hermione's hospital bed before embarking on their quest to face the Dark Lord. That kiss had been tinged with desperation and despair; an act almost of defiance, committed by two people who didn't truly think that they would live to see the morrow.

This kiss was slow, tender, exploratory....full of wonder and discovery. A kiss of young lovers who know they have a lifetime stretching ahead of them in which to learn every detail, every nuance of one another.

And then the words which accompanied the music began, and they stopped kissing to listen, because they both intuitively knew that this song would be very special to them- that it was, in fact, "their" song and always would be. It was an old, relatively obscure muggle love song that neither of them- even Hermione, who had been raised in the muggle world, had heard before. None of the students present had heard it, in fact, and it was a mystery as to why the band decided to play it at all- just more Hogwarts magic at work.

It began;

You ask me if I love you, and I choke on my reply...................

(Hermione smiled into Draco's chest. Right from the very first words it was as though the song had been written just for them. After all, it was undeniable that they both encountered difficulty when putting their emotions into words.....)

I'd rather hurt you honestly than mislead you with a lie.

(Her mind flashed to an image of Draco sitting on the edge of her hospital bed shortly after she had awakened, screaming in the dark; his face gray with worry and sleep-deprivation. She had asked where Harry and Ron were and he had told her, flat-out- though he must have known the truth would hurt her, though she could see in his eyes that telling her the truth hurt him, though almost anyone else would have tried to placate her and soothe her back to sleep. He had told her the truth. Though hearing it had nearly killed her, she was grateful for that- and she always would be.)

And who am I to judge you on what you say or do, When I'm only just beginning to see the real you?

(After six long years of stereotypes and misconceptions.......)

At times I'd like to break you, and drive you to your knees-

(All the time they had wasted hating each other, trying to hurt one another, physically, emotionally, by any means possible.......)

At times I'd like to break through and hold you endlessly.....

(They had finally and completely torn down the wall of enmity that had once stood between them, and would now make up for those wasted years with a lifetime of love, friendship and trust.)

And sometimes when we touch, the honesty's too much, And I have to close my eyes and hide.

I want to hold you til I die, til we both break down and cry; I wanna hold you til the fear in me subsides.

Draco's arms tightened about her as the music ended and they just stood for a long moment, clasped in one another's embrace, her head resting against his shoulder, until the next song began and brought them out of their shared reverie. She raised her head then, and a smile led to yet another sweet, lingering kiss.

Several feet away, Lavender, who had just been released by Harry, turned to make her way back over to Draco- and stopped short when she saw the activity in which he and Hermione were wholly engaged. Shaking her head, she sighed in defeat; she knew when she was bested. Lavender knew enough about boys to recognize instantly the look of utter adulation on Draco's face as he gazed down at Hermione after ending the kiss- she had seen it, often enough, directed at her. Draco was a lost cause. He clearly belonged to Hermione, body, mind and spirit.

Lavender allowed herself just one more sigh for what might have been, then turned with a flip of her hair and headed toward the refreshment table. A cheerful person by nature, she would not allow herself to brood over this. Truthfully, she did not begrudge Hermione her victory. It was about time, she thought, that that girl got herself someone. And after all, Draco was only one fish in the sea. Okay, one very good-looking fish in the sea. But there were plenty more out there, and the night was not over yet.......

"Hermione," Draco murmured, lost in her wide, dark eyes, "I-" he broke off suddenly, uncertainly, and she raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Draco swallowed hard, looking uncharacteristicly vulnerable and unsure. He looked almost as afraid, she thought, as when he had faced the Sorting Hat earlier.

For his part, Draco had been about to declare his love- Hermione, I love you- the words had been on the tip of his tongue, but had died on his lips when he had tried to speak them. It wasn't that the words were untrue- he knew that he loved her all right, knew it as certainly as he had ever known anything in his life. As certainly as he knew that clouds were white and grass was green and he was the best looking boy at Hogwarts. It was just that actually saying it- well, for some reason it scared him to death. It had been one thing to cry out his love for her, in fear and despair, on a black night when he had been fairly certain neither one of them would see the dawn, but it was different now- the words seemed even weightier, if possible, and so the thought of speaking them unnerved him. He would wait for the right time- an even more perfect time than tonight- and in the mean time, she already knew, didn't she? Surely she must.

So instead he said, his pale face flushing ever so slightly, "would you do me the honor of being my girl?"

Hermione's face broke into a radiant smile as she whispered, "a thousand times, yes!"