Hermione parted with Harry, Ron, and Ginny from the Great Hall the next evening as they walked down to the Quidditch pitch for the team trials.

"What are you going to do till then? Come watch our trials!" Ginny had pleaded. 

"Um, I don't think so, Ginny. I think I'll go to the library," Hermione had answered.

"But you're already done with your homework!" 

"Well, yes, but I've got some research."

"On what?" Harry had asked.

"Oh, some of this, some of that," Hermione had said mysteriously.

Hermione spent the next few hours in the library. It was great to be back among books, books, and more books. The smell of old parchment, the feel of her hand on the sturdy or not-so-sturdy covers of the books, her fingers running along their spines, and the sound of rustling pages brought an immense satisfaction to her somewhere deep inside. Here, the outside world seemed so far away. It almost seemed that nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened here - that last year's events had had no effect on this magical place.

Hermione felt that no time had passed at all when Harry, Ginny, and Ron came up behind her, giving her quite a shock.

"We're back!" Harry said. "Come on outside, we've got loads to tell you!"

"What's that you're reading?" Ron asked, shutting the book to look at its cover. "'Your Guide to the Latest Inventions, Spells, and Discoveries - Edition of 1999'. Why are you even reading that? I could use that as a bedtime book to put me to sleep."

"Well," Hermione quickly drew the book towards herself and stuffed it in her bag. "You said you've got to tell me something. Let's go out."

"Yeah, sure," Ginny said, pulling Hermione out by her hand, Madam Pince glaring at all of them as they noisily made their way outside.

"So, we got the team selected - " Harry began, but Ginny interrupted excitedly, "Oh, Hermione, we're definitely the best team this year, the best! We've got such good players you'll get a hoarse throat from cheering for us in every match!"

"I don't exactly look forward to the cheering then," Hermione said, smiling herself.

"Oh, Ginny's right, Hermione," Ron said, grinning. "Well, of course, Harry's the Seeker, no worries there - and Ginny's a Chaser, and I'm the Keeper - "

"You got in?" Hermione asked teasingly, and deep inside, somewhat incredulously. Last she remembered, Ron had had a bad problem with nerves.

"Well, I never said he's particularly good," Harry said, eyeing Ron mischievously. "He was the best though, so yes, he's in. He still has his little problem, we noticed - went all pink to red to purple and dropped the Quaffle thrice once he saw Malfoy and his little followers there - "

"Malfoy? What was he doing there?"

"Well, checking out our team, most probably, but more on that later," Ron said. "So we got these two fifth-year girls for Beaters - they're just excellent. The clubs feel like extensions of their arms, they've got such a nice command - and they blocked every Bludger, and when I say every, I mean it."

"And that second-year boy! He's so marvelous on his broom and his passes are so good, we selected him right away as a Chaser," Ginny said, giving the Fat Lady the password as they reached the Common Room.

 "That's six members," Ron said, frowning a little. "Who'd we miss?"

"Oh, I know, that sixth-year boy. Personally, I'm not rooting for him too much, but he's okay too," Harry said, settling down on an armchair.

"Come on, Harry, he's brilliant! Did you see his skills at shooting?"

"Yeah, but he's not very good at defense, anyone can snatch the Quaffle from him."

The three of them talked Quidditch until Hermione almost went off, her head lolling sideways. When the others noticed, they let her doze until dinner, and even then, Hermione fell asleep immediately after she hit the bed later that night. Well, no one could say she wasn't sleeping tight.

***

Later that night, when Draco arrived at the Head Common Room, he found it empty. The Mudblood actually got late, he thought, a smirk tugging at his lips. This was the first time he'd have the room to himself for a few moments. He walked across the room to the window overlooking the Great Lake, sat on the platform, and pulled up his legs, admiring the serene water. He opened the window and a cool wind hit his face. This felt relaxing.

Hermione came in a few minutes later and saw Draco, but ignored him. This seemed the best thing that worked both ways. Draco heard the door open and close but didn't turn his head to look. What'd he care? 

Hermione, as usual, drew up a parchment to assign patrol duties for the next week. The work was not as simple as it looked. She had two choices - either pair up Prefects from the same House or intermix them. She would very much have liked to pair the same House's Prefects, but she knew the Slytherins would create trouble if they were left on their own. But if she mixed up the Houses, well, she'd seen enough in the past two weeks to know that more than just arguments had sprung up. Hermione read the list of Prefects again and again, trying to think which pairs could be trusted not to fight their way through the patrol time.

Finally when she was done, she copied down the list twice - one for the school's main notice board and the other two for her and Draco each. She pocketed hers carefully, then thought about Draco's list. She didn't want to start another fight. But, well, duty was duty. She was still contemplating whether to hand the list over at all - it wasn't like the git was very responsible about it - when she saw him get up from by the window.

Draco had started to feel a bit cold. The wind from outside was becoming chilly. He closed the window but he was still shivering a little, and felt it was better to sit by the fire for some time. He got up and flopped onto the couch, stretching his legs onto it, and gave a sigh of relief as warmth flooded through him.

Hermione got up and kept the list on the table in front of Draco. "These are the patrol duties for next week. If you feel up to it, you can begin patrolling the floor assigned to you according to the list."

"Well, I don't feel up to it."

"Now, that was unexpected." She turned to go, picking up her stuff from the table, when the cold drawling voice spoke from behind him.

"Those cuts look pretty, Granger. Dittany refused to help, huh?"

Hermione knew that he was obviously talking about those scars from the Sectumsempra spell. Dittany had been working, but the progress had been slow. Her gaze flickered to her arms. They were littered with fading scars of all sizes.

"You, of all people, should know how long it takes. Remember sixth year, Malfoy?"

"Well, I hope it doesn't work for you at all. You know what, this spell is my favorite for you. At least all the dirty blood gets drained away."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Draco wouldn't succeed in provoking her this time. She slung her bag over her shoulder and opened the door to go out.

After she had left, Draco picked up the patrol list from the table to have a look at it - not that he was actually going to patrol, but he liked to see what his counterpart was up to. The Mudblood had given herself the seventh floor. Of course she did, half the seventh floor was out-of-bounds so her work would be reduced. However, he had the fifth floor to himself. The floor with the Room of Requirement.

He didn't know if it had been reconstructed at all, having been completely destroyed by the Fiendfyre. With a jolt, he remembered that if it had been left untouched, Crabbe would still be in there - or what would be left of him. Fiendfyre burnt down everything in its path, but perhaps some part of his friend was left behind - an arm, a leg, maybe the head, badly mutilated... He suddenly had an image of Crabbe's long club-like arm lying on top of the Vanishing Cabinet, cut off from the torso, the sleeve on fire.

He gave his head a firm shake, casting away the ghastly thought. Wherever he was, Crabbe was certainly not here - not on this side of life. He was gone, and Draco needed him to be gone from his head too. He knew that some sort of survivor's guilt was still deep-rooted somewhere in his brain, but he couldn't get sucked in because he hadn't wanted to survive himself. No one had hoped for his death more than him, so his primary guilt was having lived through the darkest days of his life, and that left very less space for having any guilt over not being able to save anyone else.

Enough with all this, he thought. Whatever you wished, you're still alive, and you have to make the most of it. He got up and went to the window again, hoping that the wind would refresh him. He settled down again, staring outside until he lost track of time. 

A few moments later, or it might have been a few hours, he didn't know, Draco spotted something in the sky - something snowy white, growing larger by the second. He blinked to get back his focus. It was an owl. Another letter, he thought irritatedly. Mother should stop sending me those. He didn't want a letter every day, updating him on his father who'd be insufferable as usual, or describing his mother's anguish when he had his own matters to deal with. It was exhausting to read about her grief and then be expected to reply back. Why didn't her mother just keep a journal?

Draco stood up and let the owl swoop down gracefully on the windowsill. He detached the letter, gave the owl some water, and unfurled the parchment. It was from his mother, of course. Just like he had expected.

But the contents of the letter weren't expected to him. He read it through, feeling his heart sink like a stone. He sat down, gripping the window glass so tightly his knuckles went numb. He read the letter twice, thrice again, to make sure he had indeed read it right.

Oh, Draco, Draco, he thought, what the hell have you done?