Hermione stood still as she watched Malfoy’s body fall to the ground in slow motion. The moment felt surreal.

He fell at her feet, his hands securely around his chest. Blood poured on the kitchen floor like a huge rain puddle.

Hermione did nothing but stare at the body, hoping it was all a dream.

“M-Malfoy?” she croaked.

Draco didn’t move, but his eyes were open and un-living.

She gave him a gentle kick in the shoulder to make sure that he wasn’t dead. When he didn’t move, she began to cry hysterically. Her legs gave out underneath her, letting her fall down onto her knees besides Malfoy’s body.

“He‘s dead!” she cried frantically. “I killed him!” She dropped her face into her hands, sobbing.

“J-Jean…” Draco whispered.

Hermione looked up from her hands, staring unbelievingly at the body on the floor. Malfoy was moving his head to the sides slowly.

“Jean…” Draco said again, looking up. He wasn’t looking directly at her which surprised Hermione.

I thought he could see. She felt chills run down her spine and she slid backwards just in case he was faking and was plotting to attack her again.

“Help me,” he said as a tear slid from his eye.

Hermione watched him with sad eyes. She thought he was dead and now that he was alive--which was good news to her--she couldn’t believe he was asking for her help.

“Help me, Jean. Please.”

“You--you harassed me,” Hermione said in a mere whisper.

Draco took in a sharp breath, gasping at the pain coming from his chest. Blood continued pouring out. He didn’t say anything at first, but then dropped his head to the marble kitchen floor limp again. He’d fainted.

Hermione’s mind and heart were racing like mad. If she was going to do something, she had to do it fast.

She ran into the other room, up the stairs, retrieving her wand from the bathroom. She didn’t care that she stained the carpet along the way.

She came back into the kitchen to find that the body was gone. She froze. All that was in the kitchen was a big, bloody mess, but no body.

Merlin. Hermione gasped, gripping her wand tightly. She was armed and prepared, this time for the worst. She noticed some bloody foot prints leading to the other end of the kitchen and outside into the backyard. She followed them hesitantly.

As she neared the back door, she heard voices; familiar voices. One belonged to Draco…and the other…

She cracked the door open for a bit and saw the last person she expected to see: Bellatrix Lestrange.

She was standing over a body that was on the ground. When Hermione peeked closer, she saw that Draco was on the green grass, grasping his bleeding chest with one hand and his wand in the other. He was glaring at his aunt. Hermione waited and listened.

“You’re a disgrace!” Bellatrix said, spitting at Draco.

“I won’t let you do it,” Draco replied through gritted teeth.

“You’re as pathetic as that Mudblood.” Bellatrix stopped pacing and stood straight with confidence. “After I’m through with you, I’ll go kill her myself.”

Hermione gasped. She pulled her wand up safely against her chest, her body shaking. She waited some more, not being able to decide whether to call for help, save herself or save Draco.

“Don’t do it,” Draco continued, trying to sit up, but that caused him great pain. “I won’t let you.”

Bellatrix laughed maliciously. “The Imperius Curse was working perfectly. That is until the Mudblood had to strike you with that knife.” She sighed contently. “Oh, well. Now I just have to kill you both. I was going to start with the Mudblood, but then I remembered…family always comes first. Avada Kedavra!”

“No!!!” Hermione screamed launching forward. The last thing she saw was a bright green light filling her eyes.


Hermione jumped up at once, breathing heavily. She heard a scream fill her ears at once. She knew she had a nightmare, but she wasn’t the one screaming. No, the sound was coming from another place in the house; a room right beside hers.

Malfoy, she thought.

The nightmare was still fresh in her mind and she couldn’t get past the idea that Bellatrix might be in the house. Hermione threw off her blankets and lit her wand, rushing her way to Malfoy’s room.

There, she saw that Malfoy’s blankets were kicked away, and he was thrashing around violently, talking in his sleep.

“No! Don’t!” he yelled, throwing his hands into the air frantically.

Hermione approached him and saw that he was sweating like mad.

She summoned a wash bin filled with cool water and a towel into the room with her wand.

She was a bit hesitant to sit next to Malfoy after her frightening nightmare.

She sighed. No, I have to do this. It’s my duty.

She wetted the towel and damped it gently on Malfoy’s head. He stopped screaming and thrashing, but was still whispering.

“I--I can’t. Please,” he breathed.

Hermione watched his expression closely. His eyes were closed and his fists were clenched tightly by his sides.

“No…please,” he paused for a moment. He was breathing shallowly.

Hermione continued wiping the sweat from his forehead with the cloth. She pressed the towel from one part of his forehead, to his ghost-like face.

Suddenly, Malfoy made a grab at her wrist.

Panicked, Hermione tried to pull away, but Malfoy spoke hoarsely with shut eyes. “Don’t leave me.”

He loosened his grip and Hermione stumbled backwards into the wardrobe. She stared unbelievingly at Malfoy.

Why is he so grabby? She thought, rubbing at her wrist.

She had dropped the towel on the floor beside the bed. She stood perfectly still for a moment, eyeing Malfoy like he was about to jump out at her.

He was breathing lightly now, his hands open; one on his chest and the other under his head.

Hermione shook her head and retrieved the towel and wash bin, leaving the room. She took one last glance at Malfoy, shivers running through her body.


Millicent Bulstrode stood peacefully beside a window in a lavish room. She stared outside, fingering the windowsill.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” A voice said behind her.

She didn’t bother to turn around, but continued staring outside. “What’s it to you, Zabini?”

Blaise chuckled and approached her. “Listen, with Parkinson dead and Lucius in Azkaban prison, we should be really careful.” He paused for a moment, watching Millicent with dark eyes. “The house-elf, Marty, told me that you went out yesterday.”

“So?” Millicent asked focusing her attention on the windowsill.

So, you shouldn’t be going outside during a time like this. May I remind you that the Order and Ministry are searching for us? This isn’t a time for a stroll. I don‘t want to see you ever leaving the mansion again without my permission, understood?”

Millicent scoffed.

Blaise gripped her upper arm tightly. “Understood?!”

Millicent glared at him. “Yes.”

He let go of her arm, “Good.” He left the room without another word.

Millicent cursed under her breath. She pounded her fist on the window. Something immediately caught her eye. She saw two figures coming towards the mansion gate.

“What the hell?” Millicent breathed, rushing down the stairs and into the dining room. She waited until the doors opened and the couple came in. She stood behind a wall, watching and listening.

“Oh, how beautiful!” The blonde girl was exclaiming, holding onto the man’s arm. “It’s so big! Can I have a tour?”

“Of course,” the lofty man replied, patting the eccentric woman’s hand.

Millicent’s face grew hot with anger. She showed herself in front of the happy couple.

“Millicent, what---" The man started, but Millicent stopped him in mid-sentence glaring at the pretty woman.

“Vincent!” She complained, pointing a chubby finger at the woman, “Who the hell is she?”


Hermione woke up at exactly five o’clock, sunrise the following morning. After the nightmare she had and checking on Draco every half hour, she couldn’t find sleep again. The night had been bad enough for her, sleeping again gave her shivers. She didn’t want to dream.

She grabbed a pair of her clothes and headed for the shower. She decided to wait to make breakfast since it was so early. She didn’t want to make too much noise since she was afraid of waking Draco. She didn’t want to face him that early yet.

Around fifteen minutes to six, she sat on her bed, drying her wet hair with her towel. Knowing that she couldn’t stay in her room forever, she went downstairs as silently as possible, causing a creak in the stairs once or twice.

She went into the kitchen to make breakfast for herself. Before she entered, she patted her jean pocket, making sure her wand was with her.

Hermione opened the door and pulled out her wand immediately at the sight before her. Draco was already in the kitchen, seated in the same chair as her dream. The only difference was that his head was resting on his folded arms on the table.

She pointed her wand directly behind his head, approaching him cautiously. She kept eyeing the backyard door as if Bellatrix herself would come in and battle her.

She could hear Draco’s light breathing.

He’s asleep, Hermione thought as she saw Malfoy’s face on top of his arms. What is he doing here?

Hermione stood where she was a moment longer, studying Malfoy. His messy hair was in front of his forehead, covering the top of his eyes. His light pink lips were slightly apart. He looked much different sleeping the way he was.

Hermione was unaware that she was smiling at the sight of him. He needs a haircut.

She noticed that there was a glass that was half filled with water beside him on the table. She shook her head and started to make some pancakes. She took out a flat pan and some eggs from the fridge.

Draco moved his head from one side to the other, but his movement caused the glass on the table to fall down, shattering on the marble floor. He woke up with a start. “Huh? Wha--?” He moved his hands frantically around the table. “Shit. I broke it.”

“Yeah, you did,” Hermione replied, watching him.

“Huh? Jean, is that you?”

“No, it’s the Queen of England,” Hermione joked.

To her surprise, Draco chuckled at her humour. “Is it morning already?

“Yeah,” Hermione said, mixing the eggs with the pancake flour. “What do you want for breakfast?” Hermione flipped the pancakes, keeping a watchful eye on Malfoy just in case. Once or twice, she even fingered her wand in her pocket.

“Nothing, I’m not that hungry,” Draco said when Hermione took a seat across the table from him.

Hermione ate her pancakes in silence, looking up at Draco a few times. He was folding and unfolding his hands constantly like he was bothered by something.

“Why did you come here, to the kitchen?” Hermione finally asked him after a few minutes.

“I came to get a drink of water. I guess I fell asleep here without knowing it,” Draco replied hesitantly.

“Did you sleep well last night?” Hermione asked watching him closely.

“Uh, yeah, it was…okay,” he replied uneasily.

“I guess you don’t remember screaming in your dream?” Hermione pressed.

Draco went pale, grasping his hands tightly. He bowed his head down. “You heard me?”

“I bet the whole neighbourhood heard you,” Hermione said, taking a sip out of her orange juice. “What were you dreaming about?”

“It was nothing,” Draco replied quickly.

“It didn’t sound like nothing. You kept saying things like ‘Don’t. Please. Don’t leave me.’”

Draco swallowed, going white as a sheet. “I-I said that?”

“Yeah, and you also grabbed me again.”

“Sorry,” he whispered slightly, the apology barely reached Hermione’s ears.

“What were you dreaming about?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Why do you want to know?” Draco asked cautiously.

Because maybe it’ll give some leads to the Ministry and Order! Hermione cleared her throat. She had to pick her words carefully if she wanted something out of Draco. “I’m your nurse and I want to help you. I can only help if you let me.”

Draco loosened up at her remark. “Okay then,” he said. “I’ll tell you. I had a dream about my mother.” Draco contemplated, brushing his hair back out of his face. “When I was a little child, my mother would always leave me.”

“Why?” Hermione asked.

“She had places to go; people to meet. I had to stay home all the time with…” He bit his bottom lip, “…my father.”


“Well, my mother wouldn’t come back for weeks, sometimes for months.”

“Was she working for someone?” Hermione pressed, obviously interested in finding answers.

Draco shook his head. “No. She didn’t work. My father did all the work. She only left to meet with her old school friends and sometimes…relatives. Last night, I had a dream that I was 8 years old and she was leaving me again. This time, she was leaving to America and said that she wouldn’t be back for a year or two. She said that I would be in the care of my father.”

Hermione watched Draco’s expression darken at the mention of his father. “You didn’t get along with your father, did you?”

“No.” Draco said in an angst manner. “He would constantly beat me whenever I would mention my mother. He didn’t like me talking about her while she was gone.” He paused, taking a long breath. “And that’s it.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked puzzled.

“That’s all of my dream,” Draco replied.


“Can you lead me outside, Jean? I’d like to sit in the sun for a while,” Draco said standing up.

“Sure.” Hermione reached him and grabbed his arm with easiness. She led him to the back door, and released him to a patio chair where he sat.

Hermione decided to stay with him for a while longer.

I think I’ll stay out here. It’s a beautiful day and there’s nothing important to do. Hermione took a seat on the soft grass under an apple tree’s shade. She looked up at the sky, pondering what Draco had just told her. He must hate his father more than the rest of us.


Millicent tried prying herself out of Vincent’s hard grip, but it was impossible. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he barked at her in a closed room.

“You didn’t answer my question! Who is she?!” Millicent snapped back.

“She’s my guest and you sure as hell didn’t treat her like one!”

“Maybe that’s because you’re drooling like a stray dog all over her! She’s a common whore and that’s how she should be treated!”

Vincent slapped Millicent swiftly across the face. She placed her hand over her cheek, tears filling her angry eyes.

“You stay the hell out of our way,” he said darkly before tossing Millicent backwards off her feet, on to the floor.

Vincent left, slamming the door shut behind him.

Millicent kicked the wall with her foot, sobbing madly.

Outside the room, Vincent found Ursula in the living room, the way he left her. She was chatting with someone amusedly and Vincent hoped it wasn’t Marty, the house-elf.

As he got closer, he saw that it wasn’t a house-elf she was talking with, but a person.

“Blaise, what are you doing here?” Vincent asked, staring at the man seated on the feathered sofa beside Ursula.

The pair looked up at him. Blaise stood up with confidence, helping Ursula up as well.
“Vincent, you didn’t tell me that you were bringing a guest,” Blaise said, grinning proudly.

“Yes, well…it was last minute,” Vincent replied through gritted teeth, trying to hint at Blaise’s departure. Being obnoxious as he was, Blaise didn’t move an inch. “Ursula,” Vincent continued, focusing his attention on the blonde now, “shall we continue with our tour?”

“Oh, Blaise gave me the tour already,” Ursula replied smiling.

“It was my pleasure,” Blaise said courtly, kissing Ursula’s hand. She blushed and Vincent went red, too, but it was from anger.

“Yes, thank you, Blaise. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to chat with Ursula in private.” Vincent said, pushing between them. He grabbed hold of Ursula’s hand, and instead of waiting for a response, he left upstairs, pulling a flustered Ursula behind him.

“What the hell is his problem?” Blaise asked no one in particular.

“I’ll tell you what his problem is!” Millicent said coming behind him, “She’s his problem! Bloody whore!” she cursed.

“Now, now, Millicent, there’s no need for name calling. She’s a guest, not a whore. There was only one whore we knew of and she’s already dead.”

“I don’t care!” Millicent screamed at him. “I don’t like her!”

Blaise scoffed. “You’re just jealous.”

“Why should I be jealous?”

“You’re jealous because you’re not over Vincent.”

Now Millicent scoffed. She placed her fat hands on her chubby waist. “I’m not jealous. I just don’t think she’s good news.”

“Right,” Blaise said, brushing past her. “If someone is better looking than you, they’re immediately not good news. Get a life, Millicent, stop ruining others’.”

“I should say the same for you, Zabini! You were the one who was trying to snog her behind Vincent’s back. You’re the one who should be getting a life.”

“It’s not my fault I attract women. I can’t help it. It runs in the family,” Blaise said smoothly, smirking.

“Looks like it skipped a generation,” Millicent whispered as Blaise left the room.

She stood in the living room, glaring at the room upstairs. “There’s something about that woman that cannot be trusted. I can sense it. I’ll find out myself soon enough.”

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