"Accio wastebasket!" The small wastebasket flew across the room and Hermione deftly caught it and slipped it under Draco just as he threw up again. There wasn't much left in his stomach and he was paler than usual. His body trembled. Hermione put down the wastebasket and put her arm across the boy's shoulder. He leaned into the Gryffindor. She stroked his head, his shoulders and upper back.

"Draco?" she asked worriedly. "Maybe I should take you to the infirmary?"

Draco's arms slipped silently around her waist, tightly and his face was now pressed into her abdomen. She realized that his trembling was no longer from the nausea; he was crying. Hermione knew Draco didn't deserve any sympathy from her; he'd made a quick career in their time of letting everyone know how he felt about Gryffindors, and even more of a show about how he felt in regards to Mudbloods. Hermione was not a vindictive creature, though, and when someone, even a Malfoy reached out to her, she would help.

Gently she brushed her hand over the boy's head and began to softly sing a lullabye her mother would sing to her when she was little. Soon his sobs eased and he slowly raised himself. His eyes were puffy and his face flushed. A wary scowl began to darken his features as he realized he'd just been crying in the arms of Hermione Granger.

"Don't," she said. "I promise, Draco, no one, absolutely no one will ever know about this." She stretched out her hand and brushed lightly at a tear upon his cheek. "Why were you crying?"

A variety of emotions warred inside Draco. He was a Slytherin. He was a Malfoy. He was a pureblood. And in these few weeks the girl in front of him had never brought up any of that with any kind of animosity. She hadn't acted at all superior to him, except insofar as school went and it seemed that personality flaw even bugged her Gryffindor friends. Draco sagged slightly.

"I know you won't say anything to your friends, Hermione," he said softly. He wondered himself why he'd been reduced to tears. "I just..." he scowled, but it was not directed at her. "This is so damned confusing!"

Hermione got up from the bed, went into the bathroom and wet down a cloth. She brought it back and even though he flinched with renewed, typical Slytherin caution, she took his hands. One by one she pressed the cool cloth to his wrists. She then brought it up to his face and applied it gently to his cheeks and forehead.

Draco grasped her wrists, stopping her ministrations. "You're not helping my confusion, Granger. You hate me! Why are you being so blasted... nice?" He tried to glare but it failed.

Hermione sighed. "Hate you?" She frowned slightly. "Draco, I never hated you! You've annoyed the hell out of me. Irritated me, even. But no, I don't hate you."

"You broke my nose," he reminded her.

"You deserved it," she asserted firmly. "I don't understand why you question me being nice. Hasn't anyone ever treated you nicely because they just wanted to be nice?" Draco shrugged. He wasn't sure he liked where the conversation was going. "Look, I know that the world we're in really isn't conducive to you and I being friends, but you even treat other Slytherins like they're beneath you. Yes, you're the son of Lucius Malfoy, but don't you realize you're not your father? You have a right to choose what you want in life. The thing is, you don't get to choose later. You have to decide now."

Now Draco did glare. "So I'm just going to turn a new leaf and embrace heroic Gryffindors and Mudbloods?" His eyes widened as Hermione jerked her wrists from his hands and looked away from him. "No! Hermione, I'm sorry. That was stupid of me. I... dammit." He took a deep breath and then reached out a hand toward her. For a brief second he hesitated, but felt the need to have that touch of hers to ground him. He laid his hand on her arm. "You said it. My father is Lucius Malfoy. And I'm..." he sighed heavily. "I don't have a choice, Hermione. Until this war is over and the dust has settled, I am my father's son."

His tone of voice had such a chilling finality to it, that Hermione shivered. She turned back to him and placed her hand over his that was on her arm. She whispered, almost as though the subject of their discussion was eavesdropping. "Are you afraid of your father?"

His eyes looked deep into her amber brown eyes, looking for any sign that she might be playing him for a fool. He saw nothing but an invitation to her trust and confidence. "Terrified," he whispered even lower.

There was a long moment and time almost felt like it had stopped, but Hermione's voice broke the spell. "Draco, if we get back to our own time, we will all go back to the roles we have to play. None of us have a choice to change that. So, play the son your father wants you to be because I'm certain it will someday save your life. Get into fights with Harry, insult Ron again, and... and call me a Mudblood. Let everyone see that, but know this, and I promise this now, I am your friend. I know that there is a Draco Malfoy that no one else knows. Someday, when you do have the choice, maybe you'll want to be him."

Draco threw his arms around Hermione and as they hugged each other tightly, time did stop. All the world was quiet as it allowed them this one breath. They both clung to each other, understanding that whatever promises fate held for them must be kept in the dark, must be kept secret. As time began to slip forward again, Draco reluctantly and slowly released Hermione. Knowing he had nothing to lose, he leaned in and brushed her soft lips with his own. It was brief and it was all he could allow, for now. He did voice one hope, "I wish we didn't have to go back."