Battling a shiver, she grabbed her wand and struggled to her door, thanking forgotten deities that her room wasn't too far from the Hospital Wing. Stumbling with difficulty along the lonely corridors, she weaved around the necessary corners and had the second shock of her afternoon when she found the infirmary bustling with activity. She froze in the doorway and her eyes danced across the busy room, her confused gaze immediately falling to her blonde friend, perched on one of the beds.
"Luna," she called, dodging two third years as she neared the Ravenclaw. "What's going on?"
"One of the Herbology hives collapsed," she replied in her usual bored tone. "A lot of people have been stung, although I think Dennis Creevey actually has a case of tychfil poisoning."
Hermione didn't even blink at the odd comment. "Is everyone okay?"
"I think so," Luna nodded, gesturing to the small rash on her forearm. "Madam Pomfrey's just finishing up with Laura Madley and I think I'm next."
"And how many are after you?"
"Those people over there," she mumbled, pointing to a crowd of no less than fifteen students. "I'm guessing the bees came into the castle because of the cold. Why are you here?"
"I was bitten."
And then I kissed...
"Aren't you allergic to bee stings, Hermione?" the other witch interrupted her thought.
"Yes, I was just-
"Your lips look a little different," the blonde commented calmly, and Gryffindor's princess felt her blood burn her cheeks. "And your eyes are a bit glazed."
She swallowed hard. "It's just-
"Oh, Miss Granger!" a new voice interrupted, and Hermione glanced up to find a rather flustered McGonagall approaching her. "There you are. Mr Longbottom said you would be in the library, the silly boy. Have you been bitten? Are you okay?"
"I-I think so," the brunette stuttered. "I mean...yes, I was stung, but I-
"Right," the headmistress interrupted, motioning for Hermione to follow her. "Come on, I'll double-check you now. Can't be too careful with your allergy."
"I'll come and find you after, Luna," she whispered to her friend as she trailed behind the older witch. "Professor, I need-
"Sit on the bed, Miss Granger," McGonagall bade, pulling the curtain to seclude them. "Now, where were you bitten?"
"Here," she replied, showing the other witch the swollen skin between her knuckles and wrist. "But I-
"And you managed to give yourself the allergy shot in time?"
"No, I-
"I'll have to get Poppy to-
"Professor," Hermione whispered sternly, keeping her voice as low as possible. "Draco gave me the shot."
The Headmistress' eyebrows rose high on her wrinkle-laced forehead, and Hermione heard her murmur a quick silencing charm before she turned back to her. "Mr Malfoy?" she clarified sceptically. "You are certain?
"Yes," she sighed, shifting her weight with discomfort. "He...he helped me."
The eyebrows went a little higher. "Well," McGonagall breathed. "I must say I'm rather surprised-
"Maybe this is a good sign," Hermione said with rushed but uncertain optimism. "Maybe I'm getting through to him-
"Miss Granger," she interrupted with a small frown. "I warned you not to get your hopes up concerning this...little project of yours-
"But I-
"It's possible that Mr Malfoy didn't want to be blamed for anything that happened to you," she continued with thick reason, and the younger witch's face scrunched up with doubt. "Nevertheless, at least you are well. Let me just check your hand."
Hermione absently did as requested; her thoughts stealing her away as McGonagall inspected the bite. She could remember little about her anaphylactic shock between the fluttering levels of consciousness and the panic that had throbbed in her head, so she had no idea how exactly Malfoy had found her or the specifics of him injecting her. All that battered her brain was him and what had happened afteerwards...
Godric. Godric. Godric...Have I really been that starved of company?
She would admit that her desire to alter and erase his prejudices had become somewhat of an obsession, but Dumbledore had seen something in Draco that was redeemable, and she saw it too now. Her loneliness didn't exactly help their predicament, and she had a feeling that it had contributed to her fascination with the small changes she'd noticed in him recently. Those changes were only minuscule but she was fixated on them; fixated on him.
She couldn't help it. She couldn't help that she'd started to kiss him back...
She'd allowed herself to get steered by a breathtaking situation, and it would never happen again. Ever. She was still determined to break his brainwashed mindset, but she needed to keep her brain in check and remember herself. Malfoy was still Malfoy, and she had to maintain a sensible distance with him, even if his lips had felt like...
...like water-damp feathers...
She would have never guessed he would feel so soft.
Hermione blinked when she realised McGonagall's mouth was moving. "W-what?" she stuttered, giving her professor an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear you."
"I said that despite Mr Malfoy's questionable reasons for helping you," the Headmistress spoke, concentrating on the younger witch's wounded hand. "I hope you thanked him appropriately."
Hermione could barely manage a slow nod as she averted her eyes, silently deciding that her gratitude towards the spiteful Slytherin had been far from appropriate. "Yes, Professor."
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