Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am not in any way profiting from this. This disclaimer applies to all subsequent chapters. I would think the fact that I don't own Harry Potter is painfully obvious, but disclaimers must be made after all.

This story is now a slightly AU, as it was started long before HBP was released. I like to think that Draco's characterization in HBP confirmed a few of my interpretations of him. This story has been revised and reworked in the last little while. There is nothing that changes the story in any great way, but I just needed to make a few things a bit clearer.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed - your comments mean a lot to me and they have encouraged me to finish this fic when I was ready to abandon it. Thank you.

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Chapter One

Disillusionment

Wait.

Waiting in the darkness. Try not to think about her. There is nothing you can do for her now. They will take care of her. She will be fine. Yes, it will all be fine. Fear is no good. It will do you no good. She will be fine. She had to be fine. The world would crumble if she wasn't going to be fine, therefore, she had to be fine. Just fine.

Wait.

Do not make any noise. Quietly, very quietly try to shift to a more comfortable position every now and again. Make sure the Disillusionment Charm was still disillusioning him.

Disillusion.

Disillusion.

What, exactly was he to disillusion? His appearance? Himself? His outlook on life? He shook his head to rid himself of such thoughts. The thoroughly disillusioned young man decided he had better leave the junk philosophy by the wayside and start reading crappy dime-store novels.

Stupid disillusionment.

They couldn't see him. He was safe. That…well that charm he didn't wish to mention should take care of that. They couldn't hear him, smell him, taste, touch or feel him. Perhaps they could smell him. After all, he had been in quite a brawl this evening; he most likely did smell just a bit. A decidedly malicious-looking sneer formed on his lips as he thought of this evening's happenings. He looked down at his bloodied and bruised knuckles which he quickly realized he couldn't see. He was Disillusioned after all. The pain was there. The bruising, stiffness and the blood that had streamed down his hands, across his arms and stained his clothes was there. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there. He could smell it, and he could taste it

Wait some more.

By the gods! Did it always take them this long to form a diagnosis?

He had operated on pure adrenalin for the last couple of hours, and now he had to be as still and quiet as was possible. His body wanted to run and rage at the injustice she had suffered, he wanted to shake that worthless boy awake so he could pound on him once more, he wanted to incite others into open revolt for her, but he couldn't alert them to his presence. His muscles slowly atrophied, his legs ached from crouching in one position for so long, and the bruises he had received in the fight throbbed against his skull. Telling himself that he was doing this for her, and none other, was the only thing that kept him still. She was the only person in the world he would do this for. She was the only person in the world he would do anything worth doing for. Surely, he could sit still for a few minutes, hours, days or eternities if it was for her benefit.

Stupid hospital wing.

Draco Malfoy supposed he could see the reasoning behind the lack of good hiding places in the hospital wing, but this was simply ridiculous. He crouched uncomfortably between a changing curtain and a hospital bed in a corner of the hospital wing, his back painfully pressed against a shelving unit full of various disgusting medical supplies and healing potions. It was quite possible that he had found the most tortuous place in the hospital wing for a healthy person.

The hospital wing always reminded Malfoy of the two weeks he had spent here in seventh year, which consequently made him remember what had brought him here in the first place, which would inevitably make him feel ashamed and disappointed in himself. However, the hospital wing was also the place where his friendship with her had first sparked. She had come to him when he was ill, and now, he was sneaking in to see her when she was injured. If he possessed a more romantic soul, he might see the poeticism of their respective stays here, but he couldn't, not when he didn't know the seriousness of her injuries.

Quietly, he tried shifting to a more comfortable position as he peeked over the hospital bed in an attempt to hear what they were saying. The headmaster and the mediwitch were standing over their patient. The mediwitch murmured a few spells that Malfoy recognized as Diagnostic Charms. A soft blue aura surrounded the patient's body, the light pulsing and thrumming around her. The blue light slowly dissolved into an insidious shade of pale red. The mediwitch sighed and the spell was broken.

"Well, she's not going to feel very well for the next few days. Her head hit the wall pretty hard, but she doesn't have a concussion and she's going to have some nasty bruises, but she should be just fine Albus," the mediwitch said.

Malfoy's whole body sighed in relief. The release of his fear was almost painful in its intensity. His assurances to himself that she was going to be fine had obviously not reassured him very much.

The headmaster turned his head towards him and rather quizzically lifted a hairy white eyebrow. Damnit! Too loud. Too loud. He had been so careful. He wanted to cry to the heavens, "But I'm Disillusioned! Can't you see that I'm Disillusioned?"

He can't see me, he can't see me, he's too far away to smell me, I really can't smell all that bad, can I? Can I?

The panicked mantra flowed through Malfoy's head, but it brought him no comfort. The headmaster soon turned his gaze away from the hiding spot.

The old mediwitch continued as if she had never lost the headmaster's attention. "I'm much more worried about the effect this attack will have on the school. I don't know what could have prompted Mr Jamison to take such an action, and against a professor. A professor Albus!" Her normally controlled tone betrayed her agitation.

The old man sighed, "I don't know. The students must be told. I will address them tomorrow at breakfast. We must make it clear that such behavior will be severely punished." Another sigh. Albus Dumbledore leaned over the unconscious young woman, brushed some of her wild hair off her face and gently placed a kiss on her bruised forehead.

"Get well soon, Professor Granger," said Dumbledore.

To say that Malfoy was surprised was quite an understatement. One rarely saw the headmaster make such a tender and clearly loving gesture. The old man was kind and gentle with nearly everyone, but it was clear that he kept his emotional distance. There were so many who had relied on him through the years, through battles and deaths that it would have overwhelmed the poor man to experience all the grief and pain people had placed on his head. Any other man could well have crumbled from that burden. A pat on the shoulder and some kind wise words to find support in one's family and friends was the most anyone could expect from the headmaster. But this was. . . Malfoy didn't know what this was. A genuine open smile spread across his features. It was a smile that Hermione was almost exclusively privy to. She did tend to bring out such tenderness and warmth in people.

Dumbledore gently stroked the unconscious woman's face. He pulled himself away from her and straightened his body. "Poppy, would you please attend to Mr Jamison's injuries and make sure that he is well secured."

"Bah! Your brain is more addled than I thought if you think that I will heal that boy's injuries." Her voice rose, and Malfoy swore he saw her nostrils flare. "He called a professor a Mudblood, blamed her for the fall of You-Know-You and then attacked her." She was almost hysterical. "He could have killed her, Albus. He wanted to kill her. I will do nothing to heal him. No! It will not happen!"

Dumbledore gently patted Madame Pomfrey's shoulder. "Now, now Poppy. I know how you feel. I don't doubt that all the staff and students share your sentiments. I don't think we can give up on Mr Jamison. We are dealing with a seriously. . ." he paused to think of the appropriate word, and turned toward Malfoy's corner "disillusioned young man."

Malfoy's head immediately snapped to attention and made eye contact with the headmaster. How the barmy old codger could make eye contact with him when he was Disillusioned was beyond Malfoy's realm of understanding. He was so screwed.

"We will have to speak with him and his parents when he has come around to himself," Dumbledore said, with his trademark calmness.

Madame Pomfrey sniffled a bit and quietly acquiesced.

"Well, I shall take my leave Poppy. Make sure you get some sleep tonight. All will be well." The mediwitch walked rather stiffly toward the young offender, mumbling something to herself about the indignity of it all.

Dumbledore made to walk out of the hospital wing and stopped just in front of the changing curtain that hid Malfoy.

"Professor Malfoy, you may step out now." There was no anger in the kindly man's voice. Stupid omniscient headmaster. With extreme awkwardness, Malfoy stepped from behind the curtain, knocking several medical instruments to the floor. Cursing loudly, he cast the counter charm on himself and rid himself of his Disillusionment.

"You could have come to see her, Draco. Surely, as her dearest friend, we would not deny you." Malfoy suspiciously regarded the old man and the twinkle in his eye. It was common knowledge that Madam Pomfrey would allow no one to spend the night in the hospital wing but her patients. There had been a few exceptions during the war years, but that was all in the past now.

"I did not think you would allow me to stay the night with her," he said tautly.

"Ah Professor, I'm afraid that Professor Granger needs her rest-"

"I will not allow her to stay alone in this room with that-that boy," Malfoy spit out, pointing to the boy at the far end of the wing who had harmed her. The boy who had cast a powerful Dark spell that had thrown her body against the wall with a sickening crunch, the boy who had wanted to kill her.

"I will stay with her tonight," Malfoy said. He straightened his body and tightened his jaw as he prepared to do battle with the headmaster. One way or another, Malfoy would stay with Hermione tonight.

"I see. I understand your concern for Professor Granger's well-being, but I am much more concerned about Mr Jamison's well-being in your presence." The headmaster looked…was it disappointed, and maybe angry? The twinkle appeared to have gone on holiday. Bloody hell, he was angry. "Your method of subduing him was most. . .unusual and might I add, improper, especially from a professor."

Malfoy's posture slumped a little and he shifted under the stony gaze. Somehow the headmaster could always reduce him to a quivering first-year caught trying to get his classmates into trouble. However his conviction to stay with Hermione had not lessened, he just felt slightly ashamed as well.

"I, well, I er-" Malfoy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It would do no good to lie to the headmaster, the old man had always possessed the uncanny ability to see right through him. "I was angry, and I uh. . ." he swallowed, "see the thing is - I just reacted. I didn't think. He was going to do her serious harm, and I just. . . I just couldn't allow that." Malvoy's voice broke on the last word.

"That is quite obvious, Professor. I do not like to see any of my students treated in such a manner." Dumbledore raised his hand as Malfoy made to interrupt. "I fully understand your reaction, but I can not excuse it. What Mr Jamison did was unacceptable, but it does not warrant the use of so much physical force."

"I understand," Malfoy muttered.

"Come, you may stay with her," Dumbledore said. Malfoy smiled wryly in thanks. Both men knew that Malfoy would do anything to stay at Hermione's side tonight, and Dumbledore's permission was merely a formality, but it was nice to have it all the same. "But if Mr Jamison is any worse for wear, you will feel no mercy."

Something greater than disappointment hit Malfoy - he had not consciously intended to harm the boy, but he hated that boy more than any other living being for hurting his Hermione. But it didn't matter that Malfoy was not allowed to touch the boy. She was all that mattered. Being near her was all that mattered. Dumbledore guided the young professor to Hermione's bedside and transfigured the adjacent bed into a fluffy armchair.

"I daresay you will find this a bit more comfortable than Poppy's shelves. I'm sure our Hermione will be glad to see you in the morning," Dumbledore smiled.

Malfoy muttered a thank you. He settled himself next to his best friend as the headmaster made his way out of the hospital wing.