"What do you mean, there's nothing?" Harry said in disbelief.

Pomfrey spared him a look as she moved to the next bed, a wordless charm pulling the dirty sheets off and another charm putting on clean ones from the pile floating by her shoulder, "It's not an illness, it's a natural process. I can't heal him of it."

"Yeah, but there has to be something that makes it easier," Harry said.

"I have sent Mr Malfoy a rather diverse selection of potions and his very extensive letters in return have thoroughly explained that none of them has had anything more than a mild and fairly temporary effect," Pomfrey said.

Harry winced, easily imagining Malfoy's pratish letters. He had the uncanny knack of getting on Pomfrey's wrong side. "He's- yeah. So nothing, then."

Pomfrey stared at the bed with a much put-upon expression before sighing and turned to Harry, "I can give you a couple pepper-ups, they seemed to reduce the fever slightly and teach you a charm to freshen his sheets so they don't get too unpleasant from sweat."

Harry walked over as Pomfrey held her wand out and demonstrated the spell twice before having Harry practice it on a few of the unchanged beds himself. She patted Harry's shoulder, "Just keep him as comfortable as you can manage, that's the best advice I can offer."

-

"Just keep him-?! That's it?!" Hermione groaned in frustration, "Can anyone here manage anything without magic?!"

"Err-" Harry held up a hand.

"It's like if you can't fix it instantly, then why bother even trying?!" Hermione said mockingly.

"Hermione," Harry said, glancing around the hall nervously as students turned to look at them.

"Maybe if they ignore it hard enough, it will just go away!" Hermione said even louder.

"Hermione, c'mon, I agree it's shit, but right now I need some advice, not a lecture on the history of magical medical care," Harry said.

Hermione let out a huge sigh, deflating from her righteous fury.

"Here, I'll walk with you to the great hall," Harry said, turning Hermione by the shoulder to get her started in the right direction.

Hermione gave him a glare but started down the hall anyway, "So Malfoy's illness doesn't respond to potions at all?"

"A little, not much, it's tricky," Harry said.

Hermione said, terribly unsubtly, "I could be more helpful if you told me what was wrong-"

Harry shook his head, "Not gonna happen."

"Fine," Hermione said.

"Besides, I need advice about what muggles do when they're sick, not magic folk," Harry said.

"Well, what did your-" Hermione cut herself off, "Nevermind, forget I asked."

"Yeah. I kinda wanted to know what people who actually care do," Harry said lightly.

Hermione reached over, giving Harry's hand a sympathetic squeeze, "Well, I'll tell you everything my parents did..."

-

Harry was starting to think he should get his broom out of the shed and fly up the tower stairs like McGonagall had. Or enchant them to move like the stairs up to the Headmaster's office. But then he'd have to figure out the enchantments and the castle probably wouldn't allow that much change, and that was a lot of work. A broom was easier. Certainly easier than walking.

He dragged himself up the last few steps into the tower and went straight to the couch, sinking into the cushions with a sigh of relief.

The house elves had replaced Malfoy's breakfast with two bowls of soup as Harry had asked, one chicken and one that was just a light broth. There was also toast and apple sauce. They hadn't been able to get the instant jelly, unsurprisingly, though Hermione had talked very fondly about having it when she was sick. The elves had also included a sandwich for Harry which he was desperately grateful for since he had forgotten to eat.

Harry ate the sandwich with one hand as he kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his robe, retrieving the two vials of pepper-up from the pocket and putting them on the tray.

There was no noise coming from upstairs, so Harry tiptoed up the stairs in his socks, and found Malfoy asleep. He was hugging a pillow, Harry's pillow. And drooling on it. Just a little.

Harry smiled to himself, only half-aware he was doing it.

The fever must have relented enough for Malfoy to sleep so Harry went back downstairs and laid on the couch, his legs hanging over the armrest. The spells over the food would preserve them for ages and Harry could use some rest himself.

-

Harry blinked, his ears straining after whatever had woken him up. A tense few seconds later, he heard the bathroom door opening above his head and the quiet, shuffling steps of Malfoy moving around.

Harry sat up and rubbed his neck, yawning and then getting to his feet. Soup was a tricky thing to carry, and He found himself staring at the edge of the soup bowls as he took each careful step. He managed to keep from spilling a single drop.

Harry set the tray on the bedside table, and when he looked up Malfoy was watching him, one eyebrow raised. Malfoy quickly looked back down, going back to trying to button the buttons of what Harry could only assume was a sleep shirt. It looked a lot like his regular dress shirts, only slightly looser and longer, made of thin blue cotton. It would suit an old man better than Malfoy. He was already wearing the matching drawstring sleep pants.

"What?" Harry asked.

"What, what?" Malfoy said sourly, not looking up. He had managed two buttons.

"What was that look?" Harry said. He took a step over, "let me help."

"No," Malfoy said, "You could have levitated the tray. You're lucky you didn't spill it like a moron.

Harry ignored the 'no' since Malfoy was getting nowhere except frustrated. He grabbed the front of Malfoy's shirt, and Malfoy's hands jerked back. Harry took a steadying breath as he did up the buttons, not looking down Malfoy's shirt as he did, and wondering at his own mix of feelings at if he had looked, would he see the scars? -or his nipples, and would those be as pink as Malfoy's lips...

"Thank you," Malfoy said stiffly, his hands still frozen in the air at his side, only relaxing when Harry moved away.

"You'd think you might wear something more comfortable when you're sick," Harry said, trying to lighten the mood.

Malfoy frowned down at himself and then up at Harry, "They are. My normal sleepwear is silk. Silk and sweat don't mix."

"Silk," Harry said, not quite hiding his amusement and getting more of Malfoy's frown pointed at him.

Malfoy waved for Harry to get out of the way, shifting down the bed so he could collapse onto the pillows against the headboard, "And whatever you wear is so much better."

"I don't know about better," Harry said, mimicking his acerbic tone, "but a lot more comfortable, yeah."

"Which is?" Malfoy said.

Harry shrugged, "An old teeshirt and boxers."

Malfoy sniffed at him, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I never said fancy, just comfortable," Harry said, "I brought soup, regular chicken and a light broth sort of thing, and there's toast and-"

"Apple sauce?" Malfoy said, studying the tray, "I'm not dying."

"What?"

"It's what you feed old people when they're dying," Malfoy said, putting a finger on the rim of the apple sauce bowl and pushing it slightly.

Harry rolled his eyes, "Well, it's also what you eat when you're sick and having trouble with food. They're all easy to digest and keep down."

Malfoy studied him, "That didn't sound like you."

"Err, well, I, uh, haven't told anyone what you're going through, so you don't have to worry about that. I asked really vague questions about err- muggle sort of sickness questions since they can't just solve everything with a potion, and muggles have a lot more experience with having to actually go through being sick and all-" Harry started to falter as he realised he was rambling and finished, "...I asked Hermione." He tensed, waiting for the explosion of anger or cruelty.

Which didn't come.

Malfoy was looking at his hands, his brow furrowed, "Did... Granger know it was for me?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah, both Ron and Hermione know I'm helping you, but like I said, I didn't say why, just that you're ill."

"You didn't tell them?" Draco said, glancing up and then back at his hands.

"No. I mean, it's personal, isn't it?" Harry said, sitting down in the chair beside the bed.

"You could have a laugh," Malfoy said quietly.

Harry frowned, "This isn't funny and I wouldn't-"

"Because you're a good person," Malfoy said, bitterness edging his words.

Harry blinked, his thoughts thrown into confusion, "Not really."

Malfoy finally looked at him.

"I try, but I've done bad things. I have a temper and sometimes I- And I'm reckless which has got people hurt..." Harry frowned to himself, "I- Why am I telling you all this?"

"I'm a good listener," Malfoy said.

And Harry almost laughed except that Malfoy looked so nervous and sincere he bit his tongue.

Malfoy went back to looking at his hands, playing anxiously with his fingers. He took a deep breath, and then another, "If you could tell Granger... thank you. It was very kind of her," Malfoy said, the words sounding awkward, like they didn't fit his mouth quite right.

As he watched Malfoy grew pinker, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. The fever was probably coming back.

"Alright. I will." Harry cleared his throat. "Hermione said a cool cloth on the forehead was good, so I'm gonna get a towel."

-

Draco remained frozen stock still until Potter stepped into the bathroom, then pulled the blankets over his head and pressed his face into the pillows and died a little bit inside.

Potter came back, and Draco hurriedly sat up against the headboard, trying to smooth down his hair. He had managed to get it looking half decent earlier in front of the sink, and now he'd gone and ruined it-

Potter dropped a soggy towel on his head, water dripping down his nose and the back of his neck- Draco snatched it off and threw it back at him. It hit Potter's chest and stuck there, water soaking into his shirt.

"Well, that's-" Potter peeled the towel off with a frown, "I suppose I should have rung it out more."

Draco used his sleeve to wipe the water off his face, shivering as water crept down his back, "What a novel idea," he said acidly, glaring at Potter.

Potter shrugged, trying to hide a grin as he returned to the bathroom.

Draco huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, regretting that he wasted any time on being embarrassed.

Potter came back holding out the towel, and Draco grabbed it from him before he could end up wet again. He folded it carefully and placed it on the side table for later. "Weren't you raised by muggles? I'd think you'd be less shit at this."

Potter was quiet, for far too long.

Draco looked at him curiously, and Potter put on a smile that looked remarkably like the one he always had on in photos for the Prophet, stilted and obviously forced.

"You don't exactly pay much attention to that sort of thing when you're sick yourself," Potter said.

It sounded good, but Potter's expression told Draco it was at least partly a lie.

"Are you hungry? All you've had today is potions," Potter said.

"And tea," Draco said.

Potter looked at Draco's mug, which was entirely untouched, and back at Draco.

"I refilled it," Draco lied.

Potter rolled his eyes, "Are you hungry or not?"

"Fine," Draco said, "but you have to conjure a bed tray."

Potter gave him a flat look.

"It has legs to raise the food up. I'm not spilling soup on myself because you can't be bothered to make something so simple," Draco said indignantly, "I've seen you conjure chairs and tables, it's the same thing."

"It's not the same thing. We practically spent a year on basic furniture, of course I can do tables and chairs, third years can do tables and chairs, you can do-"

"It's a small table with small legs," Draco interrupted.

"It's not," Potter said.

"It is," Draco said.

"Where is your wand, if it's so easy?" Potter said.

Draco smirked, "I hid it."

Potter blinked.

"You can't steal my wand if you don't know where it is," Draco said.

"Why would I steal your bloody wand?" Potter said.

Draco turned his hands up in frustration, "You have stolen it every time I've had a fever and once for an entire week I didn't."

"I didn't steal it," Potter said, "The times you were sick you dropped the stupid thing and I returned it, and other time I was just holding onto to in until you got your strength back."

"Holding onto it implies you asked permission, which you did not, because you stole it-"

A tray table appeared on the bed over Draco's legs, "There!" Potter said impatiently, putting his wand away and moving food onto the table, "Now eat."

The tray table had very thick legs, like a small coffee table that had been lopped off at the knees.

"I told you you could make a tray table," Draco said.

"That's the ugliest- That is not a tray table," Potter said.

"It's a tray, it's a table. It's a tray table," Draco said, picking up a spoon.

"It's ugly," Potter muttered.

Draco tasted the chicken soup. "Do better next time then. It's all about practise."

"Practise. What is with you and practise," Potter said.

Draco picked up a piece of toast, bit into it, frowned, and dipped it in the plain broth, taking another bite with a satisfied nod. "...It's how you get good at something."

Potter groaned, his head thumping back against the chair, "You can call it whatever you like but, practising is just another word for studying. I hate studying."

Draco tried to eat a few more spoonfuls of soup, but he really didn't have the appetite for it.

"Applesauce?" Potter suggested.

"Merlin, no," Draco said vehemently.

Potter grinned in amusement, "What have you got against applesauce?"

"It's- It's old people food," Draco said, rather losing all interest in the food.

"Wait..." Potter said, eyes narrowing in thought, "How do you know what old people eat? Is it related to the applesauce?"

Draco thought about it for a few seconds before replying, "Alright. I can't see how you would use this against me so I'll tell you."

"Use it against-"

Draco dropped his spoon back onto the table and leaned back, "My Grandfather died of dragon pox before I was born but Grandmother... I only remember her sick. My parents almost never talked about her, but I learned about her somewhere..." he trailed off trying to recall, "Anyway. I went looking for her. I knew I had the right room when Dilly, the house elf watching me, told me I shouldn't go in-"

"And you ignored them," Potter said.

"I only listened to the house elves when they threatened to tell my parents. And I knew they would only tell if it was very bad because they would be punished as well," Draco said and frowned, "In retrospect that's a terrible system if you actually want to keep a child out of trouble."

"Yeah, I'd guess the elves didn't enjoy it much either," Potter said sarcastically.

"Probably not," Draco said in a clipped tone. "Shall I continue?"

"Go on then," Potter said, waving him on.

"She was very frail," Draco said softly, "and she never spoke. She couldn't use one of her arms and had trouble eating. She ate a lot of applesauce and broth, puddings, soft things. There was an elf that took care of her, but I wonder if anyone else ever came to see her..."

Draco hesitated, lost in thought, "I would come see her every day, whenever I could and talk and talk," he smiled faintly, "and talk. Because Grandmama was never too busy or pretending to listen when she really wasn't or telling me to go and play on my own. I remember... the second day I came to see her, and she patted the bed and beckoned to me. So I knew that she wanted me there.

"She could only kind of smile with one side of her mouth, it seemed like it was hard for her, but she smiled for me. I would hold her hand sometimes because she liked it, but it was strange, her hand was so bony, and her skin was dry," Draco squeezed his eyes shut, "... And then one day she was gone. There was a funeral, but I wasn't allowed to come because I was too upset and would have made a scene. I don't think I've ever even seen her grave."

Draco quickly wiped his eyes and sniffed, shaking his head to try and clear it of all heavy feelings. It had been a long, long time since he had thought about his Grandmama. It had only been six months or so that he knew her, but he had so many memories-

"I'm sorry," Potter said.

Draco sniffed again, "Why? You didn't kill her."

That startled a laugh out of Potter and made Draco smile.

-

Malfoy looked so utterly pleased to have made Harry laugh even as he quickly tried to hide the expression by picking his spoon and just as quickly putting it back down.

Harry couldn't help noticing that Malfoy had hardly eaten anything, a few bites of soup, a single piece of toast dipped in broth and nothing else.

"You haven't eaten much," Harry said.

Malfoy shrugged, "Not hungry."

"You said you were hungry," Harry said.

"I said 'fine'," Malfoy said, slumping back into his pillow.

"So you weren't hungry," Harry said.

"I wasn't not hungry either," Malfoy said, sulking a bit, "Besides its feed a cold, starve a fever."

"Hermione says that bullshit. Or she would if she swore. She said it's an old wives tale and when you're sick its always better to eat something than nothing."

Malfoy's eyebrows rose, "Granger doesn't swear?"

"Not really," Harry said, "You really should-"

"I bet she's the sort to swear strategically," Malfoy said, "She'll save up a fuck for when it has the most impact."

"I- sometimes," Harry said, trying not to get distracted, "look, you could at least have some broth or tea."

"I took my potions," Malfoy said.

"They aren't going to keep you hydrated. You need lots of liquids when you have a fever because you're sweating so much."

Malfoy grimaced, "Don't remind me."

"Malfoy."

Malfoy frowned.

"Chickadee."

Malfoy's skin pinkened.

Harry hesitated, "...Come on, little bird."

He watched with fascination as Malfoy's flushed an even deeper red and realised that this was not his fever at all. Something fluttered nervously in Harry's stomach.

"I'll have some water," Malfoy conceded.

The glass of water Harry had left for him last time was empty, so he must have had that at least. Harry refilled it with an aguamenti and handed it to Malfoy. While he was drinking, on a hunch, Harry added two more sugar cubes to the still-warm tea. He traded it to Malfoy when he handed Harry the empty glass.

Malfoy took the tea with a much put-on sigh and took a sip, then another and contentedly drank down the whole cup. He gave Harry the empty mug and wiggled down onto the bed, making a shooing motion at the tray table.

"Really?" Harry said.

Malfoy repeated the motion with the smallest of cheeky grins.

Harry sighed, moving everything off the tray table and dispelling it so it wasn't in Malfoy's way.

"You know... for someone with a temper, you've been utterly impossible to anger," Malfoy said.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I've been trying. And I'm very good at it," Malfoy said.

"You have a lot of practise," Harry said flatly, re-enforcing the conjuration on the side table so it wouldn't disappear in the middle of the night.

"Precisely!" Malfoy said, "But the closest I've managed is the first day in the tower."

"Yeah, well, it's your ability, isn't it?" Harry said, refilling the water glass and the mug with more tea and three sugars.

"My...ability," Malfoy said, suddenly sounding small and uncertain, "I- The veela said I don't have allure."

"It's not like that," Harry said. He took a moment to think, rearranging things on the side table, "It's more like a calming feeling. It's hard to be upset or worried or angry."

"When you're near me-"

"It starts on the stairs just below the trapdoor usually," Harry said, "Have you read the book that Margery-?"

"Margery?"

"The veela, her name was Margery," Harry said.

Malfoy shook his head.

"Not at all? There's some useful-"

"I don't want to know," Malfoy said abruptly.

Harry sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair, getting caught in the tangles near the bottom, "You can't just ignore-"

"I don't want to know," Malfoy said, practically pleading.

"You're going to have to eventually," Harry said, "before the book returns itself."

Malfoy turned his head away.

"Well, I've read a bit of it. Back when veela were more like birds, they were super aggressive. So it makes sense that the male would be able to calm everyone down and keep them from attacking one another, makes him more useful."

"Useful," Malfoy muttered bitterly.

"It's nice too, not having to worry," Harry said.

Malfoy turned on his side away from Harry.

Harry frowned, "It's not a bad thing-"

"Can you leave?" Malfoy said, "I want to rest."

"You can't ignore it and hope it goes away. That's not how it works. It's a part of you, it's who you are." Harry stood up, shaking his head, "I'm gonna go down for dinner. I'll be back after that."

"Fine."

Harry headed for the stairs but stopped before going down, "Hey, can I tell Hermione about your grandmother? She's studying to be a healer after school, and she's really interested in-"

"fine," Malfoy interrupted, his voice just above a whisper.

"...Alright, see you later," Harry said.

-

Draco pulled the blankets up to his ears and didn't think about it.

He wasn't going to think about it.

He wasn't going to think about it.

He wasn't.

He wasn't.

-

"Oh, it sounds like she had a stroke," Hermione said.

"A what now?" Ron asked, leaning closer to hear over the general noise in the great hall.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "A stroke. It's when a blood clot in the brain cuts off blood flow and causes part of the brain to die if it's not treated in time."

"Never heard of it," Ron said.

Hermione's brow furrowed, "Have you heard of a heart attack?"

"Oh yeah," Ron thumped his chest with his fist, "Chest pains and what-not."

"So you know about a heart attack but not a stroke-? When stokes are nearly as dangerous-"

Ron shrugged, "Does it hurt?"

Hermione frowned, "Usually not to the one experiencing it. ...And that's the problem, isn't it? There's no pain so it isn't a problem and it's never fixed. If they survive they, just end up like Malfoy's Grandmother, treated like an invalid and left to die."

"Well, what could they do?" Ron asked, "She was like-couldn't move or talk, right?"

"Muggles have physical therapy where they help people who have been injured or lost the use of something, to relearn and rebuild their bodies. They even have speech therapy..." Hermione said. She sighed with a frown, "Isn't it strange that purebloods probably have the worst healthcare because they don't even know about the muggle medicine that could help them?"

"Or would refuse to use it," Harry pointed out.

Hermione nodded, "I wonder if she had dragon pox..."

"What?" Harry said, not following Hermione's train of thought in the slightest.

"Most of the people that make up your grandparents generation were wiped out by the dragon pox epidemic in the winter of nineteen seventy-nine," Hermione said. She pulled her shoulders back as her tone shifted into lecture mode, "Both your grandparents were killed, and Malfoy's grandfather. Very few people who contract it survive. It has a very high mortality rate, and I have to wonder how many that did survive died soon after from complications.

"Even if Malfoy's Grandmother had Lucius fairly late in life, she would have still been pretty young to have a stroke, especially since magic folk can sometimes live two hundred y-"

"If it's so dangerous, how is anyone alive?" Harry asked, mildly horrified.

"It only gets the old people," Ron said. "And it doesn't happen often, only when some sick tosser from the mainland brings it over, and they usually catch it as soon as the portkey comes in. Really hard to miss, dragon pox is."

"Well, older people," Hermione corrected. "I think it has to do with either a drop in hormone levels or increase in general cell degradation, although magic has to have something to do with it or muggles would catch it as well." She pulled out one of her many notebooks, and flipped it open to a rather intimidating looking list, "There are so many things I need to look into. For instance, do you know, the magic community doesn't have any vaccines of their own?"

"Really?" Harry asked, "Haven't they been around for ages?"

"Two hundred years," Hermione said. She took out a pen and added a few notes to one of the items on the list. "I mean, they must have tried making vaccines, it would be stupid not to, but I can't exactly read up on failed vaccine experiments in the Hogwarts library. I'm hoping Mungo's will have more detailed information."

"Well, if they don't, you'll find it somewhere," Ron said.

"Yes, I suppose-"

"Before I forget, Malfoy said thanks," Harry said.

Both Ron and Hermione stopped talking.

"Me?" Hermione said, pointing to herself uncertainly.

Harry nodded, "For the advice I asked about earlier."

"That's... decent of him," Hermione said, still looking utterly thrown off.

"How's he doing then?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged.

"I mean, you can tell us now. Right?" Ron narrowed his eyes, "Otherwise-"

Harry shook his head, "Personal."

"You mean to tell me, you asked him if you could tell us," Ron said in dismay, pointing to him and Hermione, "about his dead Grandma when he's not even alright about talking about his being sick?"

"I- Yeah?" Harry said.

"Did he hate her or something?" Ron asked.

"No?" Harry shook his head, "I think he was really fond of her."

Ron put his hand on his forehead, "Really? Mate. Really?"

"What? He said it was okay," Harry said defensively.

"Oof-" Ron groaned, "I know I have the emotional range of a tablespoon-"

"Teaspoon," Hermione said.

Ron looked stricken, "Okay, I'll admit to a teaspoon before, but I've been working at it, and I think I at least rate a tablespoon now."

"Oh, all right, a tablespoon," Hermione said, "and a generous one at that."

"Brilliant," Ron grinned. "So I'm not the best when it comes to emotional stuff and what have you, but asking Malfoy if you can tell Hermione about his dead Grandma is just a bit-"

"Bad taste," Hermione offered.

"That, but also, it sends the wrong sort of message, doesn't it?" Ron said, "I mean, do you want him to like you? I can understand if you don't, it being Malfoy, but generally fancying someone works best both ways."

"I thought he might already fancy Harry?" Hermione asked, "He's always been weirdly obsessed with him."

"Voldemort was weirdly obsessed with him, and you wouldn't say he fancied Harry, would you?" Ron said.

Hermione let out a horrified laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth, "Oh my god, Ron."

"That's the worst thing you've ever said," Harry said, "Ever, mate."

"Thanks," Ron said.

"Not a compliment," Harry said.

"I'll take it anyway," Ron said.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"So do you want him to like you?" Ron asked.

"I- I suppose," Harry said.

"Alright!" Ron said, "Then you need to be nicer to him. Not ask to tell strangers about his dead Grandma."

"You're not strangers-" Harry protested.

"No, we're worse, he knows us and doesn't like us," Ron said.

Harry grimaced.

"It's not that hard, just be nice. That's it. Nice," Ron said.

"Well..." Hermione crinkled her nose, "Cho kind of did all the work for him. And he was already friends with Ginny when they got together. He doesn't have a lot of experience starting relationships."

"Fine, then just leave the dead Grandma's out of it," Ron said.

"Can you stop saying 'dead Grandma'," Hermione said, "It's getting to be a bit much."

"I'm trying to emphasise a point," Ron said.

Hermione kissed his cheek, "And you've done a wonderful job of it."

"Oh. Alright, if you say so..." Ron said, going soppy around the edges.

Harry sighed and asked, hoping to steer them to a new subject, "Hey, Hermione, how do you control the fine detail when you're conjuring furniture?"

Hermione turned to him excitedly, "It's all about having a strong mental image of what you want to create and perfect wrist control-"

She took out her wand to demonstrate as Ron groaned and melodramatically thumped his head on the table.

-

"Before I go," Harry said, walking beside Hermione and Ron as they left the great hall, "I remembered that Hagrid raised werewolf cubs and they have a pack in the forbidden forest."

Hermione turned to Ron, punching his arm, "I knew I remembered wolves somewhere-!"

"What are you on about?" Ron said with a laugh.

"You said there were no wolves left on the british isles!" Hermione said.

Ron held up his hands, "Wolves, yeah. These are werewolves, Hermione."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, "They are indistinguishable from regular wolves."

"Cept for their parents being werewolves," Ron said.

"My point stands," Hermione said, flipping her hair off her shoulder in annoyance.

"You were both right," Harry tried, knowing it probably wouldn't work, and forging ahead before they started arguing, "So I was going to go visit Hagrid and ask him about it as soon as Malfoy's doing better. Tomorrow maybe, or the day after."

"We'll come along," Ron said.

Hermione nodded, "As long as it doesn't cut into our studies too much."

"Hagrid knows more about the Forbidden forest better than anyone. It'd be great if we could get this whole wolf-dog thing sorted in one go," Ron said. "Though if it meant less studying, I'd be all for it."

"Ron!" Hermione said reproachfully.

"Just teasin, Mione!" Ron laughed.

Harry hesitated when their paths diverged, Ron and Hermione up the stairs to the Gryffindor tower, and him deeper into the castle, "I'll uh, see you tomorrow."

Ron clapped Harry's shoulder and pulled him into a one-armed hug. Hermione hugged him as soon as Ron let him go.

"Have a good one, mate," Ron said.

Hermione gave him one last tight squeeze and stepped back, "You could ask Malfoy... if we could talk to him?"

Harry blinked.

"So we could mend fences," Hermione said.

"Try, anyway," Ron said, "I'm not going to get my hopes up."

Hermione glared at him.

Ron shrugged, "I'm just being realistic."

"I'm sure it will go fine," Hermione said confidently.