Harry Potter 1. Chapter One

**A/N: **I'm actually attempting a full-length D/Hr fanfic, for once! I'm notorious for only managing oneshots and I don't know how this will go, but if it gets a good response I'll be spurred on, so I hope you enjoy it!

This story will not be epilogue compliant,** and I strongly suggest you read the sensitive issue info below, as I will not be held responsible for how anyone reacts to the issues raised in this story.** Don't say you weren't forewarned.

**Sensitive Issue Info:**

_This story will contain references to and scenes of: self-injury, eating disorders and depression. This is **not** a light-hearted fic, so please bear that in mind._

_Because the story contains self-injury and eating disordered behaviour, consider this a **trigger warning**. If you are in the process of recovery for either of these things, I would advise against reading as I would hate to be responsible for any relapses._

* * *

Chapter One

_6th October, 1998. Saturday._

He was staring at her again.

Hermione tried hard to ignore him, and normally she would have found it easy to do, but today her head was not as clear as she was used to. And more than anything, sheer curiosity was keeping her from concentrating, and instead she found herself wondering why on earth _he _was staring at her so intently. After all, he had made it perfectly clear over the years that she was the last person he would want as an acquaintance, let alone anything more than that, so she found it hard to comprehend why he had suddenly taken such an interest in her over the past couple of weeks.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw him rise from his seat, partially hidden behind one of the many towering bookshelves in Hogwarts' library. He'd picked a spot which allowed him a perfect view of her sitting at her favoured desk, but conversely, that meant she could see him as well if she angled her head in just the right way.

He'd walked around to the front of his desk and had begun searching the many shelves for some book or another, although Hermione was half convinced he was just trying to get a closer look at whatever it was about her that was fascinating him so much. She shook her head slightly and tried to concentrate, once again, on her Arithmancy homework. After a few glances at the open copy of _Numerology and Grammatica _on the desk, she began to forget all about Draco Malfoy.

When she next checked her watch, Hermione realised with mild surprise that she'd been in the library for the majority of the day, and it had reached eight o'clock in the evening. Although that meant she'd accidentally missed dinner, she looked over her completed Arithmancy essay with a satisfied smile, having managed to complete three feet and five inches' worth of parchment analysing and explaining her accompanying number chart. She sat back, double checking that there were no spelling mistakes in her work, and rolled it up and slipped it into her bag once she was certain it was all correct.

She winced as her stomach gave a little grumble and was more thankful than usual that the library had mostly cleared out. She grimaced as she heard a small chuckle from her left; before she could stop herself, she'd turned and thrown a glare in the direction of Malfoy, only to find him closer than she'd anticipated at the desk closest to her. She frowned at his smirk; his cool grey eyes shone, alight with amusement.

"What are you smirking at?" she spat, harsher than intended but accurately reflecting how much he'd been annoying her recently.

He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, and drawled, "I'm sure you'd be smirking at me if _my _stomach had growled like that. You must be hungry, Granger."

Hermione flushed with embarrassment. "I lost track of time, not that it's any of your business, so I missed dinner."

Without waiting for a response, she hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and made to stride out of the library. Annoyingly, he followed closely behind her through into the stone-walled corridor, his infuriating smirk still dancing on his face. Her irritation only mounted when he followed silently while obviously wanting to say something else to aggravate her.

"Why are you following me?" she asked haughtily, aiming the question over her shoulder to where he walked a few paces behind her.

"Who said I was following you, Granger? Curfew's not for another hour, I'm going for a walk," he replied lightly, sickly innocence dripping from his voice.

"Get lost, Malfoy," she returned in the same light tone of voice, and was relieved when he did not follow her once she rounded another corner on the way to Gryffindor Tower.

Once upon a time, Hermione enjoyed the company she kept while sitting in the Gryffindor common room, and she still loved the place as if it was her only home. But since returning to Hogwarts to continue her N.E.W.T.s, she had started to find the common room a very lonely place indeed. Although she'd not expected to find friends as close to her as Harry and Ron had been, she never really expected to be _this _alone. More often than not after climbing through the portrait hole, she strode directly through the crowded common room and headed straight up to the girls' dormitory. This Saturday night was no different, and it was with a sigh that she drew the scarlet curtains on her four-poster bed and lay in bed with her old copy of _Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms_, wondering wistfully what Harry and Ron were doing now.

* * *

_Dear Ron,_

_I hope you, Harry and all your family are well, and you are both enjoying your jobs at the Ministry. Is it exciting, being an Auror? I know it's been Harry's ambition for years, but how are you finding it?_

_Things are very quiet here, not surprising considering Slytherin lost a lot of its members – and potential ones – after You-Know-Who died. I don't see Ginny around very much; I expect she's very busy with Quidditch practice and her N.E.W.T.s, the latter of which are keeping me very busy as well. I bet you and Harry are both happy that the Ministry accepted you without having to sit them! I know they offered me a position too, but I just couldn't pass up the chance Professor McGonagall offered me to finish my education, and it's wonderful being back at Hogwarts, even if it is very different now._

_They're still trying to repair the Astronomy Tower after the battle; it looks like they'll be finished soon but it means that quite a few students, including me, aren't able do that subject yet. Not that you two would mind, I know how much you both hated it! I don't know if they managed to figure out what the Death Eaters hit it with, but it looks like they're getting somewhere, finally. According to Professor Vector, it might be finished by the end of the month if all goes well, so hopefully that will be the case._

At this stage of her letter, Hermione paused in her writing, her quill poised above the parchment. She realised the letter wasn't the most personal she'd ever written, but the extreme distance meant that a relationship between herself and Ron would be difficult. Surprisingly, it was Ron who suggested this and yet still acted as though Hermione had been the one who shunned_ him_. As a result, their friendship had suffered greatly, with Ron acting like a petulant child denied a toy, and Hermione feeling stung that she was the one being wrongfully blamed.

Putting quill back to parchment, she continued,

_I didn't realise Draco Malfoy would be returning to complete his N.E.W.T.s this year, and I can't say seeing his face was a pleasant surprise. At least he's calmed down since May, what with everything that happened. When I first saw him during Defence Against the Dark Arts he seemed like his head had deflated quite significantly. Not that I'm complaining, of course. The new DADA teacher's very good by the way; I'd say he's the best we've had since our third year, but he's not as good as Harry teaching our DA meetings, obviously. His name's Professor Canus, although I don't see how you two would have heard of him since you don't read outside of lessons and homework. I still recommend his book, _A Study of Dwellings of 18th Century Vampires_, even though I know neither of you will read it, because it's very interesting reading._

_Again, I hope all is well with you, Harry and all your family, and I miss you all dearly._

_All my love,_

_Hermione_

Looking up from her letter, Hermione sighed. It was a cold, grey Sunday morning and the common room was uncharacteristically empty. It was likely that Ginny, as newly appointed Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, had called for an early practice session and all the fans from the House had flocked duly down to the Quidditch pitch to see how their team seemed to be faring before the first match of the season.

Although thankful for the peace and quiet in the common room, Hermione thought it best to send her letter now rather than wait and risk forgetting. She rolled the parchment up and slipped it into her jeans pocket before making her way through the portrait hole.

On her way to the Owlery, she managed to hear the din of noise from the Great Hall as breakfast was still clearly underway. Even though she missed dinner the night before, she found with surprise that she wasn't hungry this morning. She continued on, resolving that there was no point in having breakfast if you weren't hungry enough to eat it, which meant she could get in an early start in the library and complete a lengthy essay on the sources, properties and uses of aconite for Professor Slughorn.

* * *

Ron's reply reached Hermione on Thursday night, catching her reading in the girls' dormitory after a surprisingly enjoyable afternoon of Charms. At first, she thought it was an unusually quick reply considering it was Ron, but when Hermione unfurled the parchment, she understood why:

_Dear Hermione,_

_It's not bad, being an Auror. Harry's enjoying it a bit more but I can't complain. Can't really say too much about it, to be honest. I do miss Hogwarts, but it's great knowing I have a job without needing more exams. I don't know why you're complaining about no Astronomy, it was almost as bad as Divination._

_I didn't know Malfoy was going back either, but it's odd that you're not complaining about his face all of a sudden. I doubt I'd have time to read that book now I work at the Ministry, but it's good that you're enjoying it._

_We're all fine here, still weird without Fred but we're coping. Hope you're okay too._

_Ron_

While Ron had never quite had a way with words, Hermione still found herself recoiling from the coldness of his letter; he had rarely been this short with her, and she knew it was because their friendship was strained. Which, she thought bitterly, was not her fault in the slightest.

She rolled the parchment back up into a scroll and shoved it harshly into her bedside cabinet, silently fuming at Ron's childishness.

* * *

**A/N: **I know it's slow at first, but it's necessary to get the ball moving for now. I hope you enjoyed it, please review as it makes me smile :)

**WD,  
****xo.**


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N:** You'll notice I've put the date at the beginning of this chapter, and I've also gone back and put the date at the beginning of the first one as well. It's just there so it's easier to follow the timeline.

I'm really pleased with the response so far, the story's been favourited a few times and been followed even more, so thankyou! The number of reviews is still a bit disappointing though, so if you like the chapter or have any constructive criticism, I'd appreciate you letting me know :)

Also, a word to dayflow who commented that Ron writing a letter was out of character: I understand what you mean but given the situation he and Hermione are in, ie. the distance between them, I think it likely that Ron would be more willing to write to her as it would be the only way to communicate :)

Enjoy!

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Chapter Two

_7th October, 1998. Sunday._

Hogsmeade on a Sunday morning was exceptionally empty, especially considering the visits for younger students had not yet begun this school year; it was only early October and the first official visit was not for a further three weeks yet. Seeing as Draco was technically an eighth-year, Professor McGonagall had allowed him, and the other returning eighth-years of whom there were few, the privilege of visiting Hogsmeade on weeknights and weekends whenever they wished, so long as they observed the standard Hogwarts curfew.

As of yet, he appeared to be the only one to take advantage of the opportunity.

Draco's Sunday morning walks into the village had become his favourite thing about returning to Hogwarts, having not willingly elected to do so himself. It was his mother, of course, pressuring him yet again. His father hadn't had much of an opinion on the matter, his mind being too focused on his upcoming trial at the Ministry to have much concern for his son's education.

Staring down into the swirling brown dregs of coffee in his cup, Draco huffed. He was as selfish as his father, really; he was only pleased that he and his mother were not in the firing line, and there was no small measure of relief that his father's tyranny back at home might finally have come to an end.

He was shaken from his thoughts by the slender figure sliding into the chair opposite him. He looked up, surprised that she had managed to follow him to the little café.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, frowning and returning his gaze to the remnants of his drink.

"Is it a problem?" she asked, smiling faintly.

He shook his head mutely, not looking at her. Astoria Greengrass studied him closely; he certainly looked healthier than the last time she'd seen him. His skin wasn't as pale, and he had gained back some of the weight he'd lost under the stress of being trapped in the same house as Voldemort for months on end. She wondered vaguely what it felt like to have your life under such constant threat.

"Aren't you wondering how I managed to get here?" she asked, trying to provoke some interest or response in him.

"It's early; Filch doesn't guard the gate until nine, and sometimes later than that. Idiot thinks nobody realises."

Astoria sighed. When the chirpy waitress flounced over to take her order, she ordered a mug of hot chocolate and a refill for Draco's coffee. Silence passed between Draco and Astoria until their drinks had arrived and the waitress had moved on.

"Why did you follow me here?" Draco asked, finally looking his companion in the eye.

Astoria shrugged. "You've seemed like you could use some company."

"I don't want any," he snapped. "If I did, I'm sure I could've found someone to come with me."

"Could you?" Astoria challenged quietly. "Draco, you're the only Slytherin who came back from your year, who else do you know apart from me?"

Draco lowered his eyes, an inexplicable image of brown, bushy hair passing through his mind. "I'm not the only one who came back though, just because I'm the only Slytherin doesn't mean I'm alone."

Astoria gave a little laugh, devoid of humour. "That's exactly_ why_ you're alone."

Draco met her gaze again, considering her words. There seemed to be a decent amount of truth in what she'd said. He'd noticed the way some of the younger students from other Houses had stared fearfully at his badge as he approached, his family name given away by his platinum blond hair. They all knew of the Malfoys – Lucius' trial was a regular feature in the _Daily Prophet_. Rita Skeeter certainly did not hold out much hope for his fate. The amount of times Draco had read the words 'Dementor's Kiss'…he shuddered.

Astoria took a sip from her hot chocolate, setting it back down on the table with a triumphant smile at having made Draco see some sense. His coffee went untouched.

As if reading his thoughts, she asked, "How's your father's trial going?"

Draco gave a bitter smile. "I don't think it could go any worse. It's a toss-up between the Dementor's Kiss –" he shuddered again, "- and the rest of his life in Azkaban."

"How's your mother handling it?"

"She isn't," Draco said simply, and Astoria recognised that the topic was closed. Without saying another word, he stood up and walked out of the café's front door, Astoria staring after him. His coffee was cold and untouched, and his morning peace had been ruined.

* * *

Draco wasn't entirely sure why he had taken to watching her work. It had started out innocently enough; N.E.W.T.s were taking their toll on him as much as they were on Hermione and all those who were in the same position. He spent almost as much time in the library as her catching up on homework and studying – it wasn't like he'd sought her out intentionally.

But something about her had caught his attention; she'd changed in some way since the last time they'd seen each other, although not in the way that one would expect after the fall of the most evil wizard ever to have lived. Instead of the more relaxed Hermione he'd been expecting, he'd noticed she was still noticeably tense, like the danger wasn't over.

Maybe that was why she got such a shock when he tapped her on the shoulder the next afternoon.

"What do you want?" she asked coldly, narrowing her eyes when she saw who it was. She was embarrassed at herself for jumping when he tapped her, shown in the light pink tint to her cheeks.

"You took the last of the Valerian root," he replied, smiling sweetly. Hermione gritted her teeth, annoyed by his insistence on playing the innocent fool when he was really just bothering her.

They were in Potions, and Professor Slughorn had them demonstrating that they knew how to concoct a Draught of Peace. Hermione glanced at the extensive pile of Valerian root she had beside her cauldron, most of which she did not need herself, having already moved onto the final stages of the potion.

"Fine, take it," she said indifferently, turning away from him to check on her simmering potion.

He reached around her and took a sufficient handful from her desk, walking away with a smirk. Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye, frowning. His smirk did not escape her notice. She shook her head before adding the syrup of hellebore to her completed potion and watching with satisfaction as it began to emit the required silvery vapour.

Needless to say, Hermione was praised to no end by Professor Slughorn at the end of the class. Draco looked on with a sour expression, much to Hermione's amusement.

"Well done once again to Miss Granger for concocting one of the best Draughts of Peace I've seen in my years," Professor Slughorn said with a wide grin, "but before I forget, I thought it only fair to warn you that in my next lesson, we will begin to brew the Polyjuice Potion. It is important that you arrive fully prepared as it is a difficult potion and your final product will earn a score which will contribute to your overall N.E.W.T grade."

Hermione allowed herself a sly smile, knowing full well that she had no excuse to underachieve on this task, having managed successfully in only her second year in order to spy on the Slytherin whose face now showed nothing but dread.

"Because this is such a difficult potion to brew, I have decided the best way to approach it is to work in pairs," Slughorn continued. "When you arrive next lesson, I expect you to have chosen a partner and that you will begin immediately upon entering the classroom. Class dismissed."

Hermione's heart sank as she looked around the room. All of the rightful seventh-years were gathering in pairs and nodding, having clearly chosen their partner already. Meanwhile, besides herself and Draco, there were only four other eighth-years in the class. Two were Ravenclaws, and were already sitting together, so it appeared that they were partnered. The remaining two, one a Hufflepuff and one a Gryffindor Hermione didn't know, had already left the classroom.

Hermione sighed, knowing that Draco's earlier look of dread must now be plastered all over her face. He, too, had already fled.

* * *

Draco cornered the unsuspecting Hufflepuff boy on the way into the Great Hall for dinner that night. While partnering with a Hufflepuff was not something he would normally do, he assumed Hermione would already have reached the Gryffindor.

The Hufflepuff was walking alone down the stone steps that led to the Great Hall entrance, and it was through sheer luck alone that Draco had managed to find him this quickly. He climbed down the stairs at a hurried pace before the boy had the chance to turn into the Great Hall where everyone would have to witness Draco Malfoy associating with a Hufflepuff.

"Hey –" Draco broke off, cringing when he realised he had no idea what the boy's name was. He was grateful when he turned around anyway, stopping mid-step. The boy frowned expectantly.

"Do you have a partner for Slughorn's class?" Draco asked.

"Yeah," the boy replied, "that girl Victoria from Gryffindor asked me, so I said yes. Sorry."

As the boy turned and continued down the stairs, Draco cursed under his breath. Resigned, he followed at a distance and sat at his regular seat on the Slytherin table, searching the Gryffindor table for the bushy hair of his inevitable Potions partner. He frowned, realising she wasn't there.

He stayed in his place for the entire hour dinner was on the tables, and even managed to successfully deflect an attempted conversation by Astoria, but Hermione never showed up.

* * *

He found her in the library, as he expected he would. She had her head held in her left hand while her right was furiously scribbling on the parchment in front of her, which was covered in black, spidery writing.

"Looks like we're Potions partners, Granger," Draco said as he approached the side of her desk.

"What are you talking about?" she asked politely enough, still too absorbed in her work to be harsh with him. "There's a girl from my House I'm going to ask tonight."

"That Victoria girl? The Hufflepuff beat you to it," Draco told her. Looking over her shoulder, he read the title of the essay she was frantically completing. Exasperated, he asked, "Is that really the Charms essay Flitwick gave us _this morning_?"

"What's it to you?" Hermione snapped over her shoulder, barely taking her eyes off the parchment in front of her. "I like keeping on top of things."

"Except dinner, obviously," Draco observed dryly. "Do you know what time it is?"

Hermione checked her watch and shrugged. She said, a little too defensively, "It's only one night, I'll live."

There was a slight pause before she continued, "Now if I really have to be your Potions partner, would you please leave me alone until then?"

Draco smirked. "Whatever you say, Granger."

* * *

**A/N: **I hope you enjoyed the second chapter! It was really difficult to write as I had no idea where to start, but I think I like it more than the first chapter in the end.

A couple of notes: Victoria is actually Victoria Frobisher, a canon character - a quick Google will reveal she's the one who said Charms Club would conflict with Quidditch practice and so was rejected from joining the Gryffindor team. It's thought that she wasn't in Hermione's year but I took poetic licence with that detail.

As well, I realise it's been confirmed by JKR herself that Lucius Malfoy was not put on trial or even arrested after the fall of Voldemort, but I took poetic licence with that too, for the sake of the story. I hope nobody minds.

Please review if you enjoyed/have any constructive criticism!

**WD,  
xo.**


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N: **Slightly shorter chapter this time, so I apologise for that. You'll also notice the story now has an image to go with it, which I'm proud to say I made myself, I hope you all like it :)

I'm still pleased with the response, thankyou to everyone who reads and reviews!

* * *

Chapter Three

_15th October, 1998. Monday._

Hermione had to steady herself against the wall as she made her way to Potions the following Monday. She breathed deeply, trying to stop her vision from swimming in front of her eyes and willing herself to stay conscious. She rested her forehead against the wall and closed her eyes, the cool stone helping to clear her head. She wondered vaguely if she was coming down with the flu or something similar that would explain her nausea.

"Hope you don't pass out, Granger," came a drawling voice from beside her. "I won't catch you if you fall."

She turned her head to face him, keeping the side of her face pressed against the stone wall. She caught a glimpse of his wide smirk before her vision blurred and turned blinding white. She groaned and pressed her eyes shut, willing the awful sensation to stop. Draco looked on, faintly amused at her predicament, while she breathed heavily.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

She opened her eyes; her vision had returned to normal and she was presented, once again, with Draco's infuriating grin. "Why are you just standing there?" she snapped at him, earning her a raised eyebrow.

"Fine, if you don't want my help, I'll just go to class," he shrugged, although he still didn't move away.

Her head clear now, Hermione pushed herself away from the wall with her hands, her bag swinging slightly from her shoulder. "I don't want your help. I'm fine now."

She turned and walked away, hoping fruitlessly that he didn't notice her stumble slightly as she started moving. He followed her in silence the rest of the way down the corridor until they came to the Potions classroom. Professor Slughorn didn't even look up as they entered; he was busy helping Victoria and the Hufflepuff boy as their shared cauldron was apparently smoking without explanation. Hermione turned to Draco, suddenly relieved that as much as he was a pain, at least he was a competent potion-maker.

"Why don't you set up the cauldron at the desk and I'll go and get the ingredients," she suggested, politely enough.

He nodded and reached out his hand. Hermione glanced at it, confused. "I'll take your bag to the desk," he explained. Hermione stared at him, bewildered. She wondered if he was making fun of her, or perhaps planning some sort of practical joke. Nevertheless, she dug her copy of _Advanced Potion Making _out of her bag before wordlessly handing it over to him.

She stopped halfway to the store cupboard as Professor Slughorn addressed the class, "You will find most of the required ingredients in the store cupboard, including those which must be harvested during specific lunar conditions. However, two of the ingredients normally belong in my private stores; these are powdered Bicorn horn and shredded Boomslang skin. You should not need these yet, as this potion will take approximately four weeks to complete. For today, I expect you to brew up to the end of line twelve of the instructions. You may continue."

Hermione returned with her hands full ten minutes later to find Draco sitting idly beside a bubbling cauldron. "You know," she said, catching his attention, "there was nothing to say you couldn't come and help once the cauldron was set up."

Draco scowled at her, and then his eyes travelled to the book tucked under her arm. "That won't be any use to us – it only tells us the ingredients, not the method. Slughorn had copies of some weird book on his desk, so while you were at the cupboard, I went and got one."

"Oh," Hermione blushed as Draco pointed to the thick book lying in front of him. Hermione suppressed a smile as she recognised it as _Most Potente Potions_, the book she had used to brew the potion in her second year. "Well, thanks, I suppose."

Draco ignored her, flipping the book open to the page detailing the Polyjuice Potion's method. As Draco read out the list of complicated instructions, the potion on the opposite page caught Hermione's eye: _Laxative Potion_. She wondered briefly why that was in a book kept in the restricted section of the library, and who would even consider brewing it?

Tearing her eyes away from that potion, Hermione read the first twelve instructions of the potion they were supposed to be focusing on, having been too distracted to listen to Draco reading them out.

_1. Allow a cauldron of water to reach 100 degrees, then cool to 70 degrees._

_2. Add 5 lacewing flies that have been stewed for 21 days._

_3. Stir clockwise three times._

_4. Raise the temperature to 85 degrees._

_5. Stir anti-clockwise five times._

_6. Add a further 3 lacewing flies._

_7. Allow to simmer for four minutes._

_8. Stir clockwise twice._

_9. Add the remaining 4 lacewing flies._

_10. Stir anti-clockwise once._

_11. Add one ounce of crude Antimony._

_12. Stir clockwise four times, and leave to simmer for seven days._

_At this stage, the potion should emit a light grey vapour._

A glance at her watch told Hermione that they had forty-five minutes to complete the first twelve instructions, and, despite the large pile of ingredients on the desk, only two of them were required this lesson.

"Why don't you start heating the cauldron while I take back the ingredients we won't need today?" Hermione suggested, gathering the unnecessary pile into her arms. Draco nodded, already prodding the flames beneath the cauldron with the tip of his wand.

Forty-five minutes later, their potion was emitting the vapour as stated in the book. They had worked surprisingly well together, having divided up the instructions equally; Hermione was responsible for stirring and timing the potion's periods of simmering while Draco added the ingredients, controlled the temperature and double-checked Hermione's number of stirs.

Slughorn glanced into their cauldron before they left, and gave a satisfied smile. "Well done."

* * *

Hermione ran into Ginny for the first time in weeks as she made her way through the common room that night. Ginny, as usual, was alive with energy, her flaming hair bouncing around her, in stark contrast to how drained Hermione felt.

"I haven't seen you around in ages, Hermione, how are you?" Ginny asked kindly.

"Oh, I'm fine. Just getting stressed at the workload this year," Hermione replied, smiling faintly.

"You should take it easy, you look a bit pale," Ginny frowned, clearly concerned. "And you look like you've lost weight."

"I think I'm coming down with the flu or something, don't worry about me," Hermione said, trying to smile wider. Had she really lost so much weight it was easily noticeable? Ginny offered a sympathetic smile.

"Well, do you want to come down to dinner with me? My friends won't mind if I sit with you," Ginny offered, already starting to head towards the portrait hole.

"No no," Hermione said quickly, still smiling. Ginny raised her eyebrows. "That's okay, I think I'm going to lie down for a while, I don't feel very well right now. I might try and have a nap."

She smiled wider, wanting Ginny to leave so that she could curl up under her duvet and sleep. Ginny seemed a bit reluctant to leave as she bid Hermione an awkward goodbye and departed through the portrait hole. Hermione let out a sigh of relief. Even though the common room was close to empty, she walked straight through it and up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

As she undressed, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror she had on her bedside cabinet. She really was very pale. She touched her collarbones, thinking that she'd never seen them that clearly before. She angled herself so she could see her hips, cupping the bone in the palm of her hand. She didn't think there was much difference there, although she couldn't be entirely sure. She pulled on her fluffy pyjama bottoms, thinking that perhaps she should start attending dinner again, as her flu – or whatever it was – was obviously causing her to lose a bit too much weight.

She resolved to start going to dinner the next day.

Just not tonight.

* * *

**A/N: **I made up the instructions for the potion, in case anyone was wondering, but all the ingredients used - and that will be used - are real. The laxative potion is also canon, and was also actually on the opposite page apparently.

I hope you liked this chapter, please review and tell me what you think!

**WD,  
****xo.**


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N: **I know I'm going to sound a little pathetic here but I'm closing in on 2,000 hits on this story, and that makes me really happy, but it would be nice if more people would review, especially those who like the story enough to have it on story alert. **One little review** is all I'm asking please :)

Enjoy!

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Chapter Four

_16th October, 1998. Tuesday._

Hermione stared at the empty plate in front of her.

The Great Hall was bustling and alive with the usual activity and meaningless chatter that always accompanied the Hogwarts evening meal, but Hermione managed to hear none of it. She'd been staring, in turn, at everything on the table around her for at least five whole minutes, including the spotless white porcelain plate in front of her. It was at times like this that it was a good thing she had no close friends at Hogwarts and sat alone at the end of the Gryffindor table; if she had people around her, she was sure they'd be throwing strange, concerned looks in her direction.

There was a painful knot in her stomach. Hermione had resolved to attend dinner again, and she was sticking to her word. She really was; it was just that the house elves working in the kitchen – she thought with a pang – had chosen that day of all days to serve food that she absolutely refused to eat.

Everything was unacceptable. Her eyes made their way, once again, around the enormous dishes spread across the table and scrutinising their contents before concluding that particular dish simply would not do, and moving onto the next. So far she had ruled out the bowl containing the chips that had been fried in goose fat, the plate of sliced beef that had at least an inch of fat on every slice, and the enormous chicken pie which had fat droplets of gravy oozing through the pastry.

But truth be told, she was very hungry, and the smells were floating up through her nostrils and driving her brain crazy. Suddenly she didn't know which of the aforementioned dishes she wanted to eat the most. Glancing around at them all again, she was torn between utter disgust and unrivalled want.

She glanced up suddenly, feeling eyes on her. And there he was, staring at her again. He was sitting alone at the end of the Slytherin table, which would normally have been a disconcerting sight. But not since everything that had happened during the War. She didn't know whether it would be more awkward to look away, having so obviously caught him, or stare back.

She opted to look away, but she could still feel his piercing gaze on her.

Choosing food was a welcome distraction. It was difficult, which kept her mind off Draco Malfoy. Hermione was relieved when she spotted a small bowl of vegetables hidden beneath two flagons of pumpkin juice, and pulled it towards her. She served herself a spoonful of carrot, neatly placed in a corner of the plate, followed by two small pieces of broccoli in another corner, and a small helping of mashed potato in a third corner. She opted to leave the last corner empty, as there wasn't much else on offer that she found acceptable.

It took Hermione twenty minutes to eat everything on her plate, by which time a lot of the students had filed out of the Great Hall. Even Draco had left, although Hermione wasn't sure why that surprised her. She looked at her watch and suddenly felt guilty for neglecting her work to have such a small dinner; it wasn't exactly her fault, it was just that the food on the table hadn't been much to her liking. She decided to go to the library to ease her guilt.

When she sat down at her favourite desk and pulled out a half-finished Transfiguration essay, she felt instantly better.

"God, Granger, do you live in here?"

Hermione sighed. It had taken him seven words and about ten seconds to annoy her; she was sure that was some sort of record, even though it was Draco Malfoy and he was an unmitigated pain. She chose not to respond, and was left in peace and quiet for all of five minutes before he spoke again.

"What made you go to dinner tonight?"

She frowned, still looking at her work. Why on earth did he care whether she was at dinner or not?

"Why, are you planning on irritating me at dinner too?" she snapped back. "Why don't you just leave me alone?"

"Touchy, Granger," he said, and Hermione could hear the smirk in his voice even with her back to him. "Nothing wrong with a little friendly conversation."

Hermione turned in her chair so she could face him, glowering. "And why are you being friendly to me all of a sudden? If you can call annoying the living daylights out of me _friendly_."

His smirk only grew wider. He shrugged nonchalantly. "Who else am I going to talk to?"

He said it as if he didn't care, but Hermione saw his casual expression falter ever so slightly, and heard the underlying bitterness in what he'd said. She sighed, realising that they were pretty much both in the same situation; neither of them had real friends at Hogwarts anymore, and suddenly his pestering her made complete sense. It was the only social interaction he was capable of, at least as far as Hermione was concerned.

"You really must be desperate, if you're talking to me," Hermione said, a trace of humour playing about her lips.

"Maybe I just want your help with homework," he challenged, grinning. Hermione sighed, glaring at him half-heartedly. She highly doubted he needed her help with anything. That being said, she found herself wondering why she rose from her seat to help him anyway.

* * *

Astoria flicked her auburn hair in Draco's face as she sat down next to him in the Slytherin common room later that night, stretching languidly across the part of the black leather sofa that he was not occupying. He continued to read over the Charms essay Hermione had helped him with, trying to make sense of the sections she had corrected. Astoria prodded his leg with her toe.

"Can I help?" Draco grunted reluctantly.

"Not really," Astoria shrugged. "Have you heard anything about your father recently?"

"I had a letter from my mother at the weekend," Draco replied quietly. "We'll probably get his verdict just before Christmas. What a way to start the holidays."

Astoria sighed and rested her head in her hand. "You know I'm there if you need to talk or –"

"I don't need to," Draco cut her off sharply. She recoiled slightly, taken off guard by the harshness of his tone. "And if I did, why would I come to you?"

Astoria smiled. "Oh of course, how stupid of me." Draco waited, his ears alert.

"Been spending a lot of time with Granger recently, haven't you?" Astoria commented, a sly smile spreading across her features. "I'm sure you'd go and talk to her if you had any problems, I just didn't think she was your type."

"She's not," Draco retorted, clearly needled. "She was helping me with homework, not any personal problems I might be having."

Astoria nodded slowly, obviously unconvinced. "Yes, maybe that was the case tonight. But what about all the other times you've sat in the library, _watching _her?"

Draco turned to face Astoria, who threw him a cat-like grin. He really didn't know what to say in response to that, and she knew it. "It's definitely not like you, Draco. Are you feeling okay?"

He gave her a cold stare, ignoring her mocking smirk, and looked back to his essay, his mind whirling. He didn't even know how to explain to himself why he'd started watching her, never mind how to explain it to someone else. He wished Astoria would leave him alone, instead of following him everywhere, as she was so obviously doing, what with her appearing in the Hogsmeade café and now this.

"You know," she mused, looking around the mostly empty common room, "she seems different this year, somehow. I can't put my finger on it."

Draco turned and frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

Astoria shrugged, not looking at him even though he was intrigued by what she was saying. She replied, as if she didn't care, "She doesn't smile anymore."

* * *

Hermione found herself, once again, in front of the mirror on her bedside cabinet. In the dim light of the room, she examined her stomach, noting distastefully how eating dinner had made it swell slightly, even though it was nothing more than a plate of vegetables. She ran her hands over her pale skin, frowning unhappily at the thought that she looked thinner the day before, even if only a little.

Looking around the dormitory, she saw the sleeping form of Victoria in the only other bed in the room, seeing as they'd been assigned a private two-bedded room as the only two eighth-year Gryffindor girls. Hermione bit her lip, debating what to do. She felt obligated to do something, although she didn't know what.

Making up her mind, she picked up her wand from beside her mirror. She pointed it at Victoria and whispered a hushed, "_Muffliato_." Then she climbed down on to the floor beside her bed and started doing crunches until there was sweat pooling in her belly button and beading on her forehead. She ignored it. Then she moved onto doing squats, because she knew her legs could do with some exercise as well, even though it was her stomach that caused the impromptu exercise in the first place.

She lost count of how many she'd done after just a few minutes but some small voice in the back of her mind told her to keep going; she wasn't allowed to stop yet, no matter how much her muscles burned and screamed in protest. It was one in the morning by the time she decided she could stop, and she completed a thorough examination of her body in the little mirror.

Her thighs were too wide, she decided. She would have to do something about those, definitely. As for her stomach, the exercise hadn't yet had an impact on its shape, not that she'd expected it to. But this time, she noticed the tip of a bone jutting from beneath her skin; the bottom rib of her ribcage. She raised her eyebrows; she'd never experienced that sort of thing before. She grasped it in her hand, feeling a strange sense of power as she did so, although she had no idea why. Twisting around, she saw the same effect on the other side of her body; the same jutting little bone. She wondered what it would look like if more of them appeared, her morbidly curious side dangerously close to the surface of her mind at this time of the morning. She let go of her rib and tumbled into bed, already half-asleep.

The small voice in the back of her head whispered nasty things into her brain, and she was too tired to hear anything else. Vile names swirled inside her head until she managed to fall asleep.

* * *

**A/N: **I realise that in the film Astoria doesn't have auburn hair, but I took liberty with this as the book doesn't actually have a full description of her, as far as I'm aware. Personally, I imagine Astoria to look like Emma Stone, hence the auburn hair.

Please review? Even if only for constructive criticism :)

**WD,  
****xo.**


	5. Chapter Five

**A/N: **Well, I've passed 3,000 hits on the story, which makes me really happy! Thankyou to everyone who reads and reviews! Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Five

_19th October, 1998. Friday._

Hermione found herself walking into Hogsmeade at lunchtime as if she was in a trance; she didn't remember leaving the castle or much of the walk down in the bitterly cold weather. It was only when she was leaning against the wall that bordered the village, her vision swimming, that she was fully aware of what she was doing, by which point she was too cold to manage the whole walk back. She started across the deserted street and headed into a shop she'd never before noticed, _The Magic Neep_, where she found other lunchtime wanderers shielding themselves from the wind.

"Hello, Hermione," came a friendly voice from beside her. Hermione turned and was met with a wide smile from Victoria, her fellow eighth-year Gryffindor. She felt a slight pang of guilt at casting spells on her every night, but, she reminded herself, it was necessary so that she could complete her exercises in peace.

"Oh, hello Victoria," Hermione replied with a faint smile, pulling her gloves off so that her icy fingers could thaw in the shop's warmth. "What are you doing here?"

"I usually come here to get my lunch," Victoria answered brightly, "they make nice sandwiches, and sometimes I even get a Cauldron Cake as well, if I'm feeling _really_ greedy."

Victoria laughed, but Hermione had to fight to keep the disgusted grimace off her face at the thought of all that food. She looked around instead, drawing attention away from her pursed lips. "What is this place? It doesn't look like a café."

"It's not," Victoria smiled kindly, "it's more of a greengrocer's, but they do have a little seating area upstairs where you can get coffee, if you would like to come and get some?"

Hermione faced her again, taking in her long, dark brown hair and wide, green eyes. She had quite a round face, with a light dusting of freckles across the top of her nose, and a warm smile which Hermione could tell was always genuine. She nodded, smiling a little more widely now and gesturing to Victoria to lead the way.

The seating area was very cosy; there were a number of plush armchairs scattered around the room, four for every small coffee table that reached Hermione's knees. The walls were stone, but the large fireplace at the far end of the area kept it a pleasantly warm temperature. Despite that, Hermione kept her coat on as they sat down because she was still fairly chilly; she could feel the beginnings of goosebumps rising on her arms.

"So what made you come back to Hogwarts?" Victoria asked, shrugging off her coat and draping it over the back of her armchair. "I thought you'd have joined the Ministry like Harry and Ron."

Hermione shook her head. "No, not right away. I wanted to finish my education first before I jumped into anything. Kingsley – I mean, the Minister – said he'd keep the offer open in case it wasn't what I wanted to do immediately."

Victoria nodded understandingly. Hermione asked, "What about you? What made you come back?"

She shrugged slightly in response. "My dad thought it was best, actually, even though he doesn't really understand any of it." At Hermione's confused expression, she explained, "My dad's a Muggle; he doesn't even know what N.E.W.T.s are. He just wanted me to come back to take my mind off things."

"Oh, um…" Hermione frowned. "Do you mean the war?"

Victoria smiled sadly and looked down at her hands. "We lost my mother during the war."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Hermione apologised, wishing she had politely declined Victoria's offer for coffee. The waitress still hadn't even brought their orders out, so she now felt unable to excuse herself.

"Don't worry about it, you couldn't have known," Victoria smiled, looking up at her. She blinked away the tears that Hermione pretended not to notice and forced a smile onto her face. "Do you hear from Harry and Ron a lot?"

Hermione sighed. "Ron and I haven't been the same since the war; we don't talk properly anymore. I write to Harry sometimes but I don't want to impose, he's probably very busy at the Ministry."

"You know," Victoria commented, "my friend Aria sees a lot of them both. She works at the Ministry too."

"Oh? I don't know her, I don't think."

"She was in Ravenclaw, she was very quiet," Victoria explained. "Kept herself to herself."

At this point, the waitress came over, carrying Hermione's plain black coffee and a cup of tea for Victoria.

"Hey, could I get a Cauldron Cake too?" Victoria asked the departing waitress, who nodded. "You want anything else?" she asked Hermione.

She shook her head abruptly. "I already ate lunch."

* * *

"_She doesn't smile anymore."_

Draco had mulled over Astoria's words in his head for the rest of the week, sneaking covert glances at Granger whenever she wasn't watching to see how true they might be. He watched her eat dinner on an evening from a distance, if one could call a portion of such a size a full dinner, and watched as she gradually grew paler and picked awkwardly at the food on her plate. The past few nights, she seemed to be changing to such an extent before his very eyes that he wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him, fooled into imagining things that were not real.

After all, it was surely not possible to change so dramatically in such a short space of time. She was practically white that night as she stirred her soup continuously with her spoon, her eyes downcast and her hair hanging limply around her face. She looked as though the Great Hall was the last place she wanted to be.

Ten minutes later, Hermione's spoon landed with a clatter on the top of the table, her soup untouched, before she hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and left the Hall in a hurry. Draco seized the opportunity and sped after her, cornering her just outside the Hall entrance. He grabbed her upper arm and she spun around to face him in surprise.

"Come on, Granger, what's the matter with you?" Draco asked waspishly; Hermione flinched at his venomous tone before wrenching her arm out of his bruising grip.

She took a step away from him. "_You _won't leave me alone is what's the matter with me," she spat, taking enormous pleasure, and only feeling slightly guilty, at the inexplicable flash of hurt that danced momentarily across his face. She was graceful enough to keep her triumphant smile off her face as she turned and stormed away from him, but she was bemused to find that she was a little disappointed when he did not, for once, follow her.

* * *

All she wanted to do as she hurried to Gryffindor Tower through the winding stone-walled corridors was check her reflection in her bedside cabinet mirror to measure the damage she'd done since she woke up that morning to find her hip bones jutting slightly more than they had been. She ran through the day again in her mind as she hurtled up staircases and around corners.

_One slice of plain toast for breakfast with a glass of water._

Hermione couldn't even face the thought of a glass of pumpkin juice that morning, although she couldn't quite put her finger on why; water just seemed _cleaner_. Neater; somehow less. She felt emptier than she would have had she drank the juice and she knew it; the thought of that alone brought a small smile to the corners of her lips. That same smile was widened at the thought of how all the running through the castle could help her to lose more weight.

_Black coffee for lunch, no sugar, no cream or milk._

She'd had a good day, by her standards. She felt inexplicably filled with energy, although she had developed a nasty habit of having to stop and rest against the wall when her vision blurred and brightened. She darted through the portrait hole and into the crowded Gryffindor common room before she was stopped by Ginny.

"Woah, slow down!" Ginny laughed as she put her hands out to stop Hermione from colliding with her. She was alarmed by how flustered Hermione appeared. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Hermione said quickly, clearly agitated.

"Are you sure? You don't look very well," Ginny said, concerned, after looking her up and down. "You're white as a sheet."

"I'm _fine_," Hermione persisted. "You don't need to worry about me."

"Hermione, you look really ill," Ginny insisted gravely. "You've lost even more weight; you don't look healthy."

Hermione had to suppress her smile. "Honestly, Ginny, I appreciate your concern but it's not necessary. It's just stress about N.E.W.T.s that's getting me down, I promise."

Ginny looked at her dubiously. "Maybe you should go to the hospital wing and ask Madame Pomfrey to check if you're okay."

Hermione sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. "Ginny, I'm being serious; there is _nothing _wrong with me. Stop worrying please."

Ginny shrugged. "If you're sure. I have to go; we have an evening Quidditch practice session tonight. I'll see you later, Hermione."

She gave a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she left Hermione standing alone in the common room. Without dwelling too much on what Ginny said, she hurried up the stairs to the dormitory. She threw her bag on the bed and went to stand in front of her mirror, pulling up her shirt and scrutinising her stomach. She cupped her ribs in her hands, willing the bones to thrust forward through the skin so she could satisfy her morbid curiosity and see what it would look like.

Something told her it would be beautiful. But as she stared in the mirror, she knew she wasn't beautiful yet.

A small voice in the back of her head whispered,

_Fat._

* * *

**A/N: **'The Magic Neep' is a greengrocer type shop in the Harry Potter theme park, but I made up the story of Victoria's parents, and also Aria.

Hope you enjoyed, please review!

**WD,  
xo.**


	6. Chapter Six

**A/N: **I actually quite enjoyed writing this chapter, more so than the previous ones. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Six

_21st October 1998. Sunday._

_He breathed in slowly; deeply. There were goosebumps rising on his arms as the cold night air chilled his bones. His breath misted in a silvery vapour before his face and he wondered once again why he was there._

_The trees towered menacingly all around him, rising so high into the air that their height was indiscernible. Their branches were thick and obscured the sky which was almost certainly alight with stars and a shining full moon. He shuffled his feet nervously to generate warmth and heard twigs crack underneath his toes, breaking the uneasy silence. He felt feverish; there was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and his white shirt clung uncomfortably to his skin even though he couldn't remember being so cold in all his life._

_His instinct told him that there was something terribly wrong; he should leave this place. In the back of his mind, he was dimly aware that it closely resembled the Forbidden Forest, but even the one occasion he had visited the place had not filled him with as much fear and dread as this time. That was nearly seven years ago, and so much had happened since then that he felt, if possible, profoundly more unsafe than he had as an eleven-year-old schoolboy._

_How was that possible?_

_Almost as if in answer, there was a pitiful whimper from ahead of him. His breath quickened with fear, and he raised his hand up to wipe at his sweaty brow, pushing blond strands of hair away from his eyes. His legs felt stiff and awkward as he stepped forward, following the noise as it came again. His hands balled into fists, his nails digging into the white flesh of his palm._

_As he approached, the noise grew louder although he couldn't see anything in front of him. He followed the winding dirt path until the noise sounded as though it could have come from right next to him. Squinting, he caught a flash of silver lying next to the tree in front of him. He frowned and drew closer, crouching down to inspect it. It was some sort of blade; a knife. The knife-edge had clearly been filed recently, and appeared so sharp that he found himself flinching at the sight of crimson blood along the silver edge. Whatever, or whoever, had been attacked with the knife had not been stabbed; they had been tortured. The thought of what must have been done to have stained the blade in such a way made bile rise to his throat, and he dropped the knife as though it had burned him._

_The next moan startled him, and he gave a short gasp as he realised whatever had emitted it lay on the other side of the tree, concealed by the thick bark. He could feel his heartbeat pounding erratically with fear and anxiety as he stood up straight and moved around the trunk to investigate further._

_His attention was drawn immediately to a pale hand, almost silver against the dark floor of the forest, lying palm facing up with fingers curled in towards the centre of the palm. He clenched his eyes shut, feeling nauseous at the thought of what he could be about to face. He had never been able to stomach the torture he'd been so often forced to watch._

_The shallow breathing of the person before him made him open his eyes again. They took in, once again, the deathly white hand lying on the floor, and travelled slowly the length of the person's body, before reaching their face. He took a sudden step back, his hand flying to clutch his throat before he could stop it, as he tried to will himself not to be sick._

"_Granger?" he breathed._

_She didn't respond, not that he'd expected her to. Her eyes were clamped shut, her face as white as her hand lying beside her. There were small beads of sweat on her forehead, and her shirt, like his, was clinging to the skin of her chest and stomach. She was slumped against the tree behind her, as if she'd sat down supported by it and then slid gradually to the floor over however long she'd been there; he didn't want to imagine. As he studied her, he searched for signs of the pain that must have been inflicted on her by the blade he'd found, but saw no sign of injury or blood. Even so, he would not allow himself to feel relief yet. After all, a person's head surely did not hang in such a way if there was nothing wrong._

_He stood and stared at her for what felt like a long time. She did not move the entire time, and her breathing became shallower as the seconds ticked by. Seconds, or hours? It felt to him like it could be either._

_He leaned down again eventually, as her breathing slowed to such an extent that he could barely hear it anymore. He crouched down beside her, his eyes travelling over her face, noting her prominent cheekbones and chapped, dry lips._

_He raised a hand out to touch her arm and bit back a shout as her other hand flew up and gripped his wrist as if in an iron vice. Her eyes flew open and she took in a large gasp of air, as if she'd been shocked into consciousness. She met his wide eyes with her own terrified ones, and whispered, "Draco…"_

_He didn't answer, too stunned to form words. Instead, he watched her apprehensively as her face creased with apparent pain, and she looked away from him, down into her lap. He frowned and followed her gaze, panic coursing through his veins as he finally found her injury; he watched in horror as the blood seeped into her white shirt, spreading far too quickly for his liking. She pushed him away suddenly, and he stumbled back, almost losing his balance. From where he landed, he watched her pull up the hem of her shirt, push down the waistband of her skirt and look, bewildered, at five deep cuts on each of her protruding hipbones. He stayed where he was, frozen with shock, as she pushed her fingers into the blood pooling on her skin, gasping with pain as she did so._

_She looked up at him again, her face blank and her fingers stained with her own blood. He wanted to ask her who'd done it to her, but his words wouldn't come no matter how much he willed them to. Her eyes began to swim with tears as she looked at him in near desperation. He wanted to move but he couldn't force his limbs to cooperate._

_Her tears began to fall as she whispered, "Help me. Please."_

Draco's eyes snapped open, his breathing heavy and erratic, as he lay in his four-poster bed in the safety of his dormitory. He took comfort in the silence surrounding him, relieved that he could not hear whimpers or moans coming from a dying girl anymore. He covered his face with his hands, sighing and trying to calm down. The sheets clung to his bare chest in a way that reminded him chillingly of the nightmare he'd just woken from. He pushed them away from him, quickly feeling the cool air in the room hit him.

He wasn't normally one to take meaning from dreams; it reminded him a little too much of Professor Trelawney and the ridiculous dream diary they'd once been required to complete. Besides that, it seemed like a lot of speculation and guesswork, so he had always been reluctant to read too deeply into his dreams. But this one had alarmed him in a way that a dream had never really managed before; it seemed too vivid to have been pure imagination. The pain and terror on Hermione's face had seemed too genuine to ignore, even for a cynic such as himself.

And the way she had whispered to him for help… he had never heard a more desperate plea in the real world, let alone the world of his dreams.

He reached over to his bedside cabinet and picked up the silver pocket watch that lay on the surface. It had once belonged to his grandfather Abraxas but Draco had received it on the day he turned seventeen, as was the wizarding tradition. He never wore it or carried it with him around the castle, and it had gathered dust since it had been left atop the cabinet on Draco's first night back at Hogwarts. Draco blew on it, scattering the dust through the air, and squinted to read the time.

It was half past three in the morning. Draco sighed and put the pocket watch back in its place. He normally left Hogwarts at seven on a Sunday morning to venture into the neighbouring village of Hogsmeade, and he wished it had been closer to that time; getting back to sleep did not sound like such an easy task.

He covered his body with the sheets again and closed his eyes, rolling over to lie on his side. It took him, as expected, a while to fall asleep; his head was alive with anxious thoughts about his dream and he couldn't help but wonder what could possibly cause Hermione Granger, the girl who had helped destroy the most dangerous wizard ever to have lived, such fear.

* * *

Hermione rubbed her eyes, yawning widely. She checked her wristwatch for the time, feeling like she'd been awake all night. It was four in the morning; she'd exercised from eleven until two, the guilt of casting spells on Victoria stronger since they'd had coffee, and then decided to get a head start on a lengthy Transfiguration essay for Professor McGonagall that she'd been planning to finish during the day anyway. She must have lost track of the time.

She rolled up the parchment after checking the ink was sufficiently dry, and glanced out of the window next to her, her eyes resting on the Forbidden Forest. She felt a strange, inexplicable sense of sadness as she looked out at the trees, as if she'd lost something important out there once but never noticed its absence before.

Before she crawled into bed out of sheer exhaustion, she stood in front of the mirror for another inspection of her body. She lifted her shirt in the familiar way, and gradually turned in a circle so she could see herself from all angles. She noted with a smile that she appeared to be losing weight. The strange sense of power she'd felt for the first time only a few days ago returned with full force as she watched her pale figure spin in the mirror.

She'd definitely lost weight, slowly but surely. Not enough though.

Not enough yet.

* * *

**A/N: **The dream scene turned out a lot longer than originally expected! I hope you enjoyed!

Please review!

**WD,  
****xo.**


	7. Chapter Seven

**A/N:** I know it's been a long time since I've updated, and I'm sorry! I've been busy the past few months with uni etc. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

Chapter Seven

_21__st__ October 1998. Sunday._

She blacked out the next evening.

Hermione had awoken later than normal that morning, as was to have been expected considering her late night. Sitting up and glancing around, she was pleased to see that the rest of the dormitory was deserted. Checking her clock, she saw with a pang of guilt that it was the middle of lunchtime. She smiled sheepishly, thinking to herself that she couldn't remember ever sleeping in so late.

After lowering herself to the floor and struggling through a few hundred crunches, she made her way to the library, running up staircases so fast her calves felt as though they were on fire.

* * *

Draco blew warm air into his hands as he re-entered Hogwarts Castle, having foolishly left his dark green dragonskin gloves beside his bed. His morning in Hogsmeade had been pleasantly quiet and he was looking forward to the traditional Sunday roast in the Great Hall upon his return. Tucking his hands deep into his pockets, he made his way through deserted the Entrance Hall.

With no small amount of dismay, a quick glance into the Great Hall was enough to inform him that the elves had stopped serving lunch. He cursed himself for having lost track of time in Hogsmeade and ran his fingers through his slick hair just as his stomach gave an offended grumble.

Draco sighed, wondering what he could do.

* * *

Hermione was sitting in her favourite corner of the library, head buried in a Charms textbook. She had an unfortunate, and entirely subconscious, habit of reading some sentences aloud if they were a little difficult the first time around.

"Do you always talk to yourself when you read?" came a voice from her right. Startled, Hermione looked up into the face of a girl she'd never seen before. Before she could reply, the girl sat herself on top of a nearby desk and continued, "No, not all the time, just a fraction of the time."

The girl's accompanying smile had a menace about it that Hermione found unsettling. She had the strange feeling that she should know who this mysterious girl was, and yet could find no trace of her in her memory. She didn't recognise the long blonde hair that fell elegantly over one shoulder, nor the skin that was so pale it was almost dazzling. The stranger didn't wear House robes, not entirely unusual considering it was a Sunday, but combined with every other aspect of her person, this fact was just as disarming as her appearing out of nowhere.

"Do I… know you?" Hermione asked slowly, frowning. She closed the book in her hand, her finger wedged between the pages so she wouldn't lose her place.

The girl gave a tinkling little laugh. She crossed one ankle over the other in mock gracefulness and with a wink of her eye, whispered, "I'm sure you will."

The wink caught Hermione's attention more than the curious way in which she'd answered the question. She felt like she recognised those eyes, that haunting silver flecked with mischief and coloured in shades of guile. Even so, she struggled to put a name to the face.

"What's your name?" Hermione asked, staring almost rudely. The other girl either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Aela," she replied, flashing a brilliant smile. She flicked her hair lightly back over her shoulder; it seemed to move effortlessly. It was an extremely light blonde – so light that Hermione wouldn't at all have been surprised if it contained the occasional strand of silver hair. It seemed to emit a faint, eerie glow that hung around her like an aura. Perhaps Aela was related to Veela.

Aela's hand lingered for a moment in the space where her hair had lain a few moments ago before it dropped to rest in her lap. Hermione's eyes noted with great envy how Aela's collarbones protruded through her skin. Subconsciously, she raised her hand to her own, checking that they were still there beneath her fingers.

Aela smiled like she'd caught her looking. It was almost enough to send a chill racing up Hermione's spine. She felt simultaneously like she should avoid this girl at all costs, but at the same time was drawn to her. It was like she wanted to take her inside of herself and emulate her beauty, for she was really very beautiful.

And she was so _thin_.

Without even attempting to appear subtle, Hermione looked down and noticed that Aela's legs were extraordinarily thin. It made her ache with longing jealousy, so much so that she almost had to catch her breath. When she looked back into those strangely familiar eyes, the smile had grown even wider.

It looked like Aela had won something; perhaps a personal competition of great importance.

"Are you going to the Great Hall for dinner?" Aela asked innocently, and yet the worrisome smile did not fade all that much, somehow.

"I suppose I might," Hermione replied, looking down, suddenly extremely self-conscious of her own legs inside her average sized jeans. "I mean, I'm not very hungry but if you're going I suppose I'll go with you."

She could feel her cheeks flaring up. When she looked at Aela, the face looking back at her was one of glittering triumph. Hermione forced her Charms textbook back inside her bag, already too full, and slung it on her shoulder as she stood up.

The next thing she knew, she was lying on the floor staring at the ceiling. Her head pounded with astonishing force. She gave a groan of pain and tried to sit up, but felt a pressure on her shoulder forcing her back down.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," laughed a more familiar voice. "I've asked someone to go fetch Madame Pomfrey; she'll be here in a minute."

Hermione turned her head to the side slightly to see Victoria kneeling on the floor next to her, who gave her a reassuring smile. Hermione gladly returned it before asking her what had happened.

"I have no idea," Victoria shrugged. "I came in here to do some work and you were just lying here. I sent some Hufflepuff boy off to the Hospital Wing so that I didn't have to leave you without a friend."

She gave another warm smile that Hermione felt very grateful for before she remembered Aela. "Did you see another girl here? She was called Aela, I've never seen her before but I think she was here before I passed out."

Victoria's brow furrowed. "No, and I don't think there's anyone in our year called Aela."

"She might not have been in our year," Hermione said. "I didn't ask her. I don't even know what House she's in."

Victoria shrugged just as Madame Pomfrey appeared over her shoulder.

"Now, what's happened here?" she asked in an affectionate, motherly tone. Victoria moved out of the way so that she could kneel beside Hermione herself.

"I don't know, I stood up and the next thing I knew I was here on the floor," Hermione gave a weak chuckle. "I think I probably just stood up too fast, that's all."

The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. The sympathetic look on Madame Pomfrey's face filled her with a cold sense of shame.

"That sounds right, especially with all the books you're carrying!" she laughed, standing up and offering a hand to help Hermione to her feet. She swayed slightly, her vision brightening alarmingly before her eyes for a few seconds.

"Thank you for your help, but I think I'll be fine," Hermione said, smiling gratefully as her vision cleared. "Sorry to drag you away from the Hospital Wing for a dizzy spell."

"Don't worry about it," Madame Pomfrey waved her hand dismissively. She gave Hermione another reassuring smile before she headed back to her work.

"And thanks, Victoria, I'm glad someone friendly found me," she grinned, stooping down to pick up her bag and hoist it over her shoulder.

Victoria laughed in agreement. "Yes, imagine what would've happened if someone like Draco Malfoy had found you!"

She gave Hermione a light nudge in the ribs with her elbow, giggling. Hermione joined in but for some reason, hearing Draco's name had almost made her wish that he _had_ been the one to find her, for some inexplicable reason.

Almost.

Hermione was halfway back to Gryffindor Tower a few minutes later, bizarrely pleased that she'd managed to avoid eating for the whole day. It gave her a strange sort of satisfaction, to think she'd been so iron-willed and strong. As she reached the end of the corridor, Aela stepped out from seemingly nowhere.

"What happened to you? I just blacked out in the library and you'd gone," Hermione asked her sharply, slightly annoyed that Aela had just left her, even if they had only known each other five minutes.

"Oh, sweetie," Aela replied in a sickly sweet voice, "I went for dinner. I brought you something since you couldn't make it."

Hermione looked down to see what she now held out in her hand. She took a step back in surprise as she saw one of the sharpest knives she'd ever come across lying in Aela's palm.

"Why would I want that?" Hermione asked, genuinely dumbfounded.

Aela grinned slyly. "I thought you might find a use for it someday."

Hermione took the knife wordlessly, feeling as out of control as if she were possessed. She slid the knife into her bag without really knowing why. Aela watched with relish as she did so. She held her own in one hand; the point was resting on the pad of a finger on her other hand, not quite drawing blood, and she spun it slowly in circles, all the while with a distinctly unsettling smile on her pale face.

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**A/N: **Already Aela's one of my favourite OCs ;) I imagine her to look like Brittany Murphy - R.I.P. - with extremely platinum blonde hair.

Hope you all enjoyed, please review!

**WD,  
xo.**


	8. Chapter Eight

**A/N: **Thankyou for all your reviews! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

Chapter Eight

_21__st__ October 1998. Sunday._

Draco rounded the corner on his way to the library, when he saw Hermione standing at the other end. If asked, he could not have explained why the expression on her face made him stop walking, but he felt compelled to do so anyway. He moved back so that he watched her from around the corner, his body otherwise hidden. He only hoped she would not notice him from where he stood but again, something in her face told him he would not be noticed.

His eyes narrowed; she was talking to someone who was just around the corner beside her. Draco could barely see Hermione from where he stood and so couldn't see the person she appeared so deep in conversation with, but it was obvious that that's what he was seeing. For it was true that she looked oddly transfixed by what the other person was saying, but Draco himself could not make out any words. Who could she be talking to? He had rarely seen her so attentive to what another person was saying.

He found himself wondering why he was watching her. His own thoughts annoyed him; why, after all, should he be the one to notice that her skin looked oddly white? That her hair hung limply around her face as she glanced down slightly, her brow furrowing with confusion? He squinted as she reached out and felt an uncomfortable twinge in his gut as her arm retracted. She held something distinctly silver; it glittered in a way that reminded him chillingly of his dream. Draco felt the beginnings of a chill at the bottom of his spine as she slid it wordlessly into her bag.

"Aren't you going for dinner, Hermione?" Aela enquired innocently, stirring Hermione out of her trancelike state. She had stopped twirling the knife around her hand but held it still in the same place. Hermione felt as though she could feel the weight of the one she'd been given bringing her bag down heavier on her shoulder.

"Madame Pomfrey said I probably blacked out because of something I ate," she lied smoothly, her face blank. "I don't think eating anything else would help me."

Aela smiled widely, and Hermione could tell at once that she should not trust her. However, she once again had that feeling that Aela was drawing her in somehow, and she was helpless to resist. She also had the unsettling feeling that someone was watching her, but she attributed this to Aela's general personality.

"That's probably a good idea. If I were you," Aela continued, resuming the spinning of the knife in her hands, "I'd just go and have a lie down."

Hermione nodded, fascinated by the motion of the knife and at the same time wondering how Aela managed to handle it so deftly that she did not draw a single drop of blood. Before she turned to leave, Hermione asked, "What House are you in?"

"I'm in Slytherin," Aela replied after a heartbeat's hesitation. Her eyes twinkled subtly, her wide grin unnerving.

* * *

_22__nd__ October 1998. Monday._

Draco's attitude towards Hermione had shifted noticeably since the last time they'd spoken, she noted in Potions. He seemed distant; while perhaps normal for Draco himself, it was a sudden change from the almost friendly demeanour he'd shown towards her in the previous few weeks. As she gripped the edge of the mahogany desk while her vision blurred unsteadily, she felt his eyes on her. When she could see again, she risked a sideways glance and found his face unreadable, focused on the open book before him.

She coughed, eliciting no response. Her fingers slackened their grip on the desk slightly, her knuckles flooding with colour.

"It says here," Draco mumbled, "we need one of the ingredients from Slughorn's private stores."

Hermione leaned across and read the section of the book Draco was referring to. "Powdered bicorn horn. I'll go and see if he has it on his desk."

She stared at him briefly before she went, wondering confusedly why he was behaving in this way. She felt slightly awkward, like he'd discovered a well hidden secret that he shouldn't have. He stared fixatedly at the book, in a way that made it obvious to Hermione that he was avoiding making eye contact with her. She frowned, puzzled.

As she departed, Draco lifted his eyes and watched her go. He noted the lankness of her hair, having lost a fair amount of its bushiness. It also seemed slightly thinner than usual, as though it was slowly falling out. He wondered vaguely if she was sick, but pushed it to the back of his mind as he concentrated once again on the complex instructions in the book before him.

_Cut the hellebore stems into sections of five. Add one by one then stir twice in an anti-clockwise direction._

He read this sentence as Hermione returned to the desk clutching a jar of powdered bicorn horn in her hand, as tightly as if she thought she would drop it. She put it on the desk in front of her and leaned over Draco's shoulder to read the same instruction as he'd just read.

"Pass me the knife," she said, pulling the hellebore stems towards her. "I'll cut these."

An inexplicable chill ran up Draco's spine at the word _knife_. He was about to make a biting remark that she already had one in her bag, but bit his tongue to keep from saying it. That would have required an awkward explanation of how he'd come to know that. Still, though, something about it unnerved him. It was most likely the dream he'd awoken from the day before; Hermione's desperate plea for help reverberated horrifyingly in his head, and he felt suddenly cold all over.

"Draco?"

Her voice shook him out of his thoughtful reverie, and he wordlessly slid the knife to her at her prompting. He kept glancing, inexplicably once again – he found his actions and thoughts quite inexplicable in general recently – towards her while she was using the knife, as though he was standing guard… making sure that nothing bad was going to happen. What could possibly happen, though, he had no idea. He frowned, something else he seemed to be doing a lot recently.

He had the vague, fleeting suspicion that something was not entirely right.

* * *

Hermione and Draco went separate directions as they left the room, bidding each other a quiet, slightly tense goodbye. Hermione was quite perplexed, to say the least. She didn't have very long to dwell on Draco's odd – oddish? - behaviour, however, because Aela was waiting for her around the corridor from the Potions classroom as she emerged. She offered a sickly sweet smile as way of greeting.

"How was Potions, sweetie?" she asked, and Hermione could not tell if it was real or merely in her imagination that her voice was dripping with malicious sarcasm. Aela fluttered her eyelashes innocently, and Hermione decided it must have been in her imagination only before answering.

"It was… fine," she replied with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. She made no conscious effort to keep the conversation going, but found that Aela remained by her side nevertheless.

She really was a strange girl, Hermione decided. There was something almost ethereal about her; she seemed to float alongside her as she walked with her heavy – it seemed to her – footfalls. Her hair, once again, emitted the same kind of eerie, silvery glow that it had when Hermione had first seen her. _Was that really only yesterday? _Her eyes glittered in a most unsettling way, as though she was constantly ready to make a cutting remark, or was always one step ahead of you… forever knowing something that could bring your world crashing down around your ears.

"Draco wasn't his usual self in Potions, was he?" Aela remarked offhandedly.

Hermione stopped in her tracks, staring at Aela, utterly startled. "How do you know that?" It came out as a whisper, though Hermione, if pressed, could not have explained why. She felt shaken; her hand trembled slightly. She clenched it into a fist in annoyance.

Aela rolled her eyes as if Hermione was stupid. Her answer sounded as though she was explaining something very simple to a very confused child: "I'm in Slytherin too, aren't I? He didn't seem his usual self today."

"Oh," Hermione said mechanically. She breathed out heavily. "Of course. I forgot, sorry."

Aela smiled, satisfied, and turned and continued to walk (float?) away. Hermione frowned as she started after her, still not entirely convinced that everything Aela said rang entirely of truth.

* * *

When she got back to her dormitory that night, Hermione saw that she'd received a letter during the day. She furrowed her brow slightly, wondering who would have written to her. She threw her heavy bag onto the floor and collapsed onto the bed to read the letter. Her stomach gave an unhappy grumble. Before she unfurled the letter, she punched her stomach hard, whispering, "Shut up. You're not getting anything."

_Dear Hermione,_

_I know it's early to be asking but Mum wanted me to ask you soon if you wanted to visit for Christmas. Harry's going to be here too, and Ginny said she hasn't seen much of you this term so it would be nice if you were around._

_Sorry to hurry you, but Mum wants to know as soon as possible if you'll be able to come, so if you could reply within a week, it would be helpful._

_Ron_

Hermione didn't even reread the letter; she was so consumed by the anger bubbling up inside her like fire. She felt touched, as always, by Mrs Weasley's kind invitation to spend the Christmas holidays at the Burrow, but had to seriously consider whether she could last the whole holiday without punching Ron square in the face.

How _dare _he treat her like this? In such a carefree, offhanded manner, and after the way he treated her over the summer? He had some nerve! She noticed bitterly that there was no mention of him wanting her to be there over Christmas, only that other people might like to see her instead. She was sorely tempted to politely accept Mrs Weasley's offer just to spite him. She may not normally have been a spiteful person, but Ron Weasley just knew how to push buttons sometimes.

With a pang of horror, Hermione remembered Mrs Weasley's penchant for feeding her guests until they were full to capacity. For a moment, she was struck by blind panic; sheer terror. How could she deal with that? She subconsciously cupped her hipbones in her hands, allowing the forgotten letter to fall onto the bed, completely at a loss as to what she should do.

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**A/N: **Please review! Hopefully things will be speeding up soon, and I mean the story as well as updates!

**WD,  
xo.**


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