A/n: I'm working on a few longer fics at the moment, but for the time being here's a two-shot for you!

This story is inspired by the strange state the world is in at the moment. I'm not in any way trying to make light of what's going on as I know that it's a very upsetting and worry-inducing time for lots of people (myself included! I think that writing this fic and turning to humour was my own way of dealing with increased anxiety – and my own hypochondria is 100% the inspiration for Ron), so please don't read on if you have been trying to avoid content about viruses on the news or in general.

That being said, it's supposed to be a fun look at how Hogwarts might have coped in a similar situation and is predominantly a Dramione 6th year romance :)

Stay safe everyone and part two will be up soon, so please review!

BB x

Some people thought that the concept of man-flu was funny and endearing. These people had clearly never met Ron Weasley.

"I have a sore throat" he grumbled, hand cautiously rubbing the offending body part.

"You'll be fine, Ron".

"It's really bad though. And I've been sneezing all day".

"Not exactly the usual precursors to death…"

"They're symptoms Hermione. They could be the beginning of the end!"

"Ronald, you are completely and utterly fine! A veritable picture of health. If anything at all, it's probably just hayfever".

"Hayfever? What's that? Is it serious?"

"Oh for the love of –"

Hermione closed the book she'd been attempting to read for the past half an hour and sighed. It had been like this for days. Ron was so convinced that every sniffle was life-threatening that she hadn't had a single moment's peace for the best part of what had felt like a very long week.

Hogwarts was in lockdown and it was slowly driving her mad.

It had all started a few weeks ago with a confirmed case of dragon pox in a second year Hufflepuff student ("Typical" Ron had moaned, when Professor McGonagall announced the news to the assembled Gryffindors in the common room. "It would be a bloody huff that goes and catches an almost extinct disease!") and the castle was under a strict Ministry of Magic imposed quarantine.

This wasn't exactly how Hermione had envisaged spending her Easter, cooped up with all the other prefects in the Room of Requirement, which had obligingly transformed itself into a communal area, series of bathrooms and dormitories to house them during the crisis.

The student body had been divided up by age, as dragon pox was most infectious and unpleasant for the very young and very old. As a general rule, older teenagers only got mild cases, but could easily carry and spread the pox to younger classmates without any sign of symptoms themselves.

The small number of students who had already contracted dragon pox in their childhood had been allowed to floo home from the Headmaster's study, but everyone else had to remain instead of going home for the holidays, in an attempt to avoid spreading the outbreak to their grandparents, younger siblings and the wizarding community at large.

After the news had first broken, Hermione had – perhaps predictably – done a bit of research on the infamous epidemic of 1492 and was mildly relieved to discover that the Ministry had at least desisted with the burning of infected communities with fiendfyre, which was a practice that had continued up until 1650.

In the first of a stringent series of measures that had been declared by Rufus Scrimgeour after receiving a pile of hysterical howlers from parents, the four House common rooms had been requisitioned for the younger years (first years in Gryffindor, second years in Ravenclaw, third years in Hufflepuff and fourth years in Slytherin). The last arrangement had been met with a fair amount of disgruntlement by three quarters of the fourth years, who didn't think they should be punished on top of being forced into quarantine by a prolonged stay in the dank dinginess of the dungeons.

The logic behind their new accommodation was to allow for more space and comfort for the younger students, where the Professors could easily keep an eye on them and so the first and second years especially were close to the Hospital Wing.

An extremely harassed and run off her feet Madam Pomfrey was caring for those students who were displaying the less than delightful symptoms – dragon pox not only caused the clusters of orange pustules which made the disease so distinctive, but was accompanied by virulent hiccupping, steam pouring uncontrollably from the patient's nostrils at intervals and body aches accompanied by itchy, scaly skin.

Fifth and sixth years were in the Great Hall in a sort of makeshift camp, and seventh years had taken over the third floor corridor, where the classrooms had been magically transformed by Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape into dorms and study spaces so they could continue preparing for their N.E. .

Dumbledore had made the decision that the prefects were to be housed separately so they could continue with their regular duties, as well as new ones likes escorting small groups of younger students to the Library to check out the books they needed for homework and assisting Professor Sprout in brewing the infusion of bubotuber and shrivelfig leaves which soothed scaly skin.

Hermione had never been more grateful that she had been made a prefect, as it meant they could be out and about more than the allocated hour in the grounds per day that everyone else got. The idea of being trapped in the Great Hall with the rest of the sixth years made her stir crazy just thinking about it.

One of their main tasks seemed to be to prevent other students from sneaking around after hours in flagrant disregard of Scrimgeour's rules. Apparently even the prospect of exploding pustules wasn't enough to deter the most amorous from midnight trysts in the draughty passageways of the towers or behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy, which for some reason was a notorious make-out spot (or as Dean had once put it, "It's a rite of passage getting caught by Filch in the ungodly small hours. Have you even really touched a girl's breast until you've done it behind old Gregory?")

This existential question aside, potentially infection-spreading snogging wasn't the only rule breaking that the prefects were having to deal with.

A booming black-market had sprung up in the days before the new living arrangements had come into effect, with a series of miracle cures and rather questionable remedies doing the rounds. There were rumours that if you slept with gold under your pillow then you'd be protected – Hermione assumed this had something to do with dragons' traditional love of gold, but her logical reasoning that surely if anything this would encourage rather than repel them didn't get much traction and lots of people still took galleons to bed. Others had taken to chewing mandrake root – which was one of the most unpleasant smelling things Hermione had ever encountered, and she'd smelt Harry's socks after quidditch – because it was supposed to boost your immune system.

She had been forced to confiscate bertie botts every flavour beans transfigured to look like medical tablets from Seamus, who was selling them to first years for a sickle a scoop. She dreaded to think what unethical products Fred and George would have been pedalling if they'd still been at school.

Further afield Filch had been put in charge of keeping all the communal areas of the castle sanitised and could be seen moving methodically round the corridors with his mop and bucket with newfound zeal, Mrs Norris following him like a sentry.

On top of all of this it had transpired that Ron was a gigantic hypochondriac.

Which Hermione was surprised she hadn't already been aware of after six years of friendship and how acutely conscious she was of everything else that annoyed or upset him – top of the list being missed meals, Crookshanks getting fur on his robes and Zacharias Smith doing pretty much anything.

He'd taken to cleaning his hands with a sanitising charm whenever any of the Hufflepuff prefects so much as looked in his direction and now that they'd been moved out of Gryffindor tower, she didn't even have Harry to back her up when he was being ridiculous.

The only person who seemed unperturbed by the epidemic was Draco Malfoy.

Thursday evening found the prefects gathering in the Transfiguration classroom to listen to a presentation from two visiting Healers.

As Hermione entered the room, with a disgruntled Ron beside her, her eyes were immediately drawn to Draco lounging at a desk at the back. She tried to ignore the jolt the sight of him produced and instead turned her attention to Padma and Terry who were sitting near him, the way you don't look directly at the sun.

"And why are we being given medical training exactly?" Draco drawled, voice cutting across the general chatter. "Isn't this precisely what we have a matron for?"

Pansy laughed and Ernie shot him a disgusted look, clearly assuming the question came from a place of spineless self-interest.

Hermione knew he was just playing devil's advocate, the same thing he did in class, asking perverse questions or disagreeing with points other people had made simply to cause trouble. It admittedly required a certain degree of intellect, but she didn't know why he took pleasure in being so condescendingly contrary. He'd been doing it more lately, not that she was keeping tabs.

In probably never to be repeated unity, and definitely from a place of self-interest, Ron agreed with him.

"This is a joke! I'm not risking my neck for some infectious first year. I didn't sign up for this when we became prefects" he said as they took their seats.

"Technically we didn't sign up to be prefects" she reminded him. "We were chosen".

"That's not the bloody point!" he said indignantly. "Just because I'm a bastion of guidance and leadership doesn't mean I want to be the first in line to be coughed on by a germ-infested idiot".

Ignoring this slight aggrandisement of his role, Hermione rolled her eyes and fished a quill out from her bag.

"Good evening" the female healer said, standing up in front of the blackboard and putting a halt to the conversations around the classroom with a sunny smile. "My name is Delilah Higgins and I work on the infectious diseases ward at St Mungo's. This is my colleague Colin".

Colin, who had long hair tied up in a ponytail and was dressed in green scrubs, gave a friendly wave.

"Salazar save us" said Draco, in a scornful whisper that somehow carried all the way to the front of the classroom.

"Kindly keep your comments to yourself Mr Malfoy" Professor McGonagall barked.

Delilah's smile didn't falter and she continued as if there had been no interruption. "The headmaster has asked us here today to tell you a bit about the warning signs to look out for if someone has been infected with dragon pox and how to protect yourself when handling them".

"Handling them? What are they, cattle?"

"Mr Malfoy kindly desist!"

"As you are all over the age of fifteen" Colin put in, "the likelihood of you catching a virulent form of the disease is extremely low –"

"See?" Hermione said under her breath, but Ron only made a dubious noise and crossed his arms.

"– however we appreciate that it's an unsettling time, so it's brilliant that you have volunteered to help out –"

"Volunteered my arse!" Ron muttered.

"– and all of us at St Mungo's are extremely grateful".

Hermione felt a gratified glow – hopefully they would be teaching them what they could do to help beyond stopping gullible classmates from being swindled out of their money.

"We are going to be educating you about how to keep the younger students calm and at ease through a number of relaxation techniques" said Colin. "As supporting their mental health is just as important as looking out for their physical health".

"We will be talking about how to help them focus on controlling the things in their life that they can, rather than worrying about the things they can't" Delilah added.

This all sounded eminently sensible, and was vastly preferable to the palm readings and other nonsense that Professor Trelawney had been offering students. It seemed to Hermione that a distinct lack of medical training and touching lots of different people's hands was a sure fire way of spreading the disease if anyone did have it, but Lavender and Parvati were still entirely convinced they were immune because a soggy clump of tea leaves had said so.

Hermione would perhaps have considered a career as a healer if she wasn't set on joining the Ministry after graduation, and Delilah and Colin were just as nice as the healers they had met when Mr Weasley was attacked by Voldemort's snake the previous year.

She paid rapt attention to the session, taking notes and asking the odd question while Ron slouched down in his seat and made a series of increasingly put-out noises.

At the end of the hour McGonagall led them all in a round of polite applause for their guests before calling them up year by year to allocate their patrol partners for the following fortnight.

After the fifth years had traipsed out, Hermione made her way to the front with the others, Draco sauntering behind her.

"I would like sixth year prefects to pair up as follows" McGonagall said, frowning down at the sheet of parchment she was holding. "Mr Weasley with Miss Bones –"

"But she's a Hufflepuff!" Ron protested immediately. Ron had been studiously avoiding Susan and Ernie in their new common room, positioning himself as far away from them as possible at mealtimes.

Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared and she fixed Ron with the kind of Medusa-like stare that would have made less stubborn men wither.

"And?" she said sternly.

"That's where the outbreak started!" Ron said. "No offence" he added to Susan, who looked crestfallen, "but it means you're more likely to be carrying the pox doesn't it?"

"It does not follow that every student from Hufflepuff is more likely to be infected" McGonagall sighed. "We divided all students up into their year groups soon after the first case. This is just the kind of illogical fear mongering that as prefects, I am looking to you to dispel. I take it I don't need to strip you of your position Mr Weasley?"

Ron went red at this and quickly shook his head, but continued to mutter furiously under his breath. Hermione thought she caught the words "pestilence" and "badgers".

"Miss Patel with Mr Mcmillan" McGonagall continued.

Padma and Ernie exchanged friendly smiles.

"Miss Granger with Mr Malfoy –"

Draco's head came up and he caught her eye, shooting her a smirk that made her stomach squirm. How, when she had seen it hundreds if not thousands of times, could it still have the same stupid effect on her?

It was frustrating to say the least. Even more so that his grey eyes haunted her, in those moments before sleep when her brain's usual defences were down. His profile was emblazoned on her mind, just like the sound of his voice echoing along a corridor in a sharp retort. The cadence of his laugh, usually mocking as he flashed Potter Stinks badges across a hazy dungeon or some other such nonsense, but sometimes genuine.

She had unconsciously memorised the sound of his footfall, knew his timetable almost as well as she knew Harry and Ron's. Knew the exact colour of his blood, blossoming crimson when Buckbeak slashed his arm that time in third year.

The number of times his father would hear about things had decreased as they'd grown older and he'd stepped out from his shadow, more confident in himself. She thought he seemed happiest when he was on a broom, or when his lips quirked in a lazy smile as he chatted with Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini at a tucked away table in the library. She'd noticed that he had a gallant streak – carrying Pansy's bag or surreptitiously helping Crabbe and Goyle out in lessons, shaking his head in exasperation at whatever mess they'd made.

Then there was the incident where she'd punched him in the face. His sharp intake of breath, the surprised flush of his cheeks which had somehow felt more intimate than the total sum of her kisses with Viktor and Cormac…

This year, something was different. Something she wondered if anybody else had noticed. He was more withdrawn, darker somehow. Harry of course was convinced that Draco had become a Death Eater over the summer, but she didn't want to believe it.

All of these thoughts remained firmly in the deepest crevices of her mind.

There was the occasional moment when she thought perhaps he was watching her too, a prickling on the back of her neck that made her turn round only to find that he was looking away.

She would never tell anybody how she felt, not that she was entirely sure herself. Definitely not Harry and Ron, and certainly not Draco himself. She would rather be trampled by a rampaging herd of hippogriffs than give him the satisfaction of knowing he invaded so many of her thoughts.

"- and that leaves Mr Boot with Miss Parkinson" McGonagall finished.

She dismissed them with a casual flap of her hand and turned her attention to the seventh years who were messing around at the back of the room awaiting their instructions. Hermione and Ron picked up their bags and headed out the door.

"I think I'd rather take my chances with Susan than Malfoy" Ron said sympathetically, patting her shoulder. "At least there's always the chance he might get the pox before tomorrow night".

She made a non-committal sound and Ron launched into a rant about how deeply unfair McGonagall had been. She only half listened. Her eyes were drawn, inevitably, to the back of Draco's head as he strolled ahead of them. There was a tension in his shoulders that hadn't used to be there – maybe he was more anxious about the epidemic than he was letting on?

She hated herself for noticing these things about him.

Stupid gorgeous arsehole.

The following evening at 9pm, Hermione was waiting for him by the entrance to the Room of Requirement.

Her gaze travelled over people sprawled out in armchairs, playing exploding snap or getting on with homework. More than any other time she remembered, the lines between the houses had blurred. Except for the Slytherins of course, who still congregated together in the seats near the fire and observed everyone else with aloof distaste. She wondered vaguely whether the ability to raise one eyebrow was a prerequisite of getting sorted into the house, or if Snape taught lessons on it to all new incumbents.

But in general, being forced to live together in such close proximity seemed to have erased old enmities and indifferences, now strangely insignificant compared to everything else that was going on. She supposed she should have guessed that a familiar fear like illness, rather than the nebulous fear of Voldemort would bring people together more than any number of Dumbledore's inter-house unity speeches.

She heard footsteps approaching and knew it was Draco by the mix of anticipation and guilt that stuttered her heart.

He was late, which was usual, but didn't greet her with a nickname, which wasn't.

"So Granger, are you ready to patrol the corridors and prevent witches from making poor life choices?" he asked, leaning against the wall next to her and quirking an eyebrow. They all did it bloody constantly!

His mask of casual confidence was up, green and silver tie loose around his collar like he'd just come from an assignation. Perhaps he had. She determinedly pushed the thought away.

"Poor life choices in what regard?" she replied, keeping her voice as steady and indifferent as she could, to protect herself from the stupid treacherous feelings that betrayed the usually reliable logic of her brain. That Draco Malfoy was and always would be nothing more than a prejudiced dick. It really was incredibly inconvenient she had to spend so much time with him every day.

"That they're gallivanting around with clearly inferior wizards and not me" he smirked.

"Gallivanting?" she asked. "You sound like my grandmother".

"Your grandmother must be incredibly intelligent and charming then".

She rolled her eyes and marched off ahead of him out the entrance, not bothering to check whether he was following.

He caught up to her easily and they walked side by side in silence, down the fifth floor corridor that gleamed from recent scrubbing. There was a strong smell of lemon flavoured disinfectant and she didn't think she'd ever seen the suits of armour gleam so brightly. She wasn't sure what Filch thought people were doing to them so that sanitizing was required - lick them? – but clearly he'd used industrial amounts.

"Filch is in a cleaning frenzy" Draco commented, pulling a face. "Do you think it's his equivalent of an orgasm?"

His tone was sardonic, and she suspected if she wasn't so attuned to his moods she might not have noticed, but she sensed the tiredness underneath. What could be keeping him up at night?

They stepped onto the staircase leading to the fourth floor, which unhelpfully decided to change direction half way down and deposited them at the end of the east corridor rather than the south. Here the high arched windows let in moonlight which fell in silvery beams across the stone slabs. In the distance she could see the lake like a molten mirror and lights twinkling in the windows of Hagrid's hut.

Hagrid was likely coping with the lockdown better than most, as he lived in solitude a lot of the time anyway, with Fang and whatever other rabid creatures he was currently housing. Even so she should send him an owl, make sure he was doing ok on his own.

"My grandad had the pox when I was little" said Draco apropos of nothing, his voice strangely loud in the muffled quiet. "He got pustules on his – well, let's just say it was somewhere unpleasant".

"Thank you for that delightful image" Hermione retorted with as much sarcasm as she could muster.

It wasn't like him to offer up information about his family, especially to her – unless he'd been hoping to make her feel uncomfortable with the insinuation of where these particular pustules were located. Which was exactly the kind of thing he'd do.

They made their way along the rest of the length of the corridor without speaking, sticking their heads into a couple of classrooms for good measure, though she didn't expect to find anyone there. Hogwarts students were nothing if not predictable in their night time liaison spots.

"Well, you've really offered some scintillating conversation tonight" Draco said dryly, as they rounded the corner into the charms corridor.

"We're not exactly friends, so why should I?" she shot back. It came out harsher than she'd intended.

They might be living in a surreal time, but that didn't change the fact that they weren't even close to being friends.

She glanced sideways at him. His skin looked like pale marble, his usually blonde hair leached of all colour by the moonlight. He was a study in light and shadows, dispiritingly handsome, and if she had possessed any talent at drawing he would have made a good subject. She mentally berated herself for allowing her mind to go down this train of thought and for the familiar thrill of lust that raced through her veins.

She really had to get a grip on herself. Between these inopportune feelings, the dragon pox, and dealing with Ron, she was starting to lose her sanity.

"Passes the time quicker" Draco shrugged. He took his wand from his pocket and began twirling it idly.

Now that she was this close to him, she noticed the dark bags under his eyes, the mauve tinge to his eyelids. Involuntarily her gaze slid down over his body, lean from years of quidditch. It definitely seemed slimmer. Maybe he was getting ill?

She instinctively drew away from him – despite her pragmatic attitude she didn't actually want to come down with anything – and shifted awkwardly when he noticed.

"Can't even bear to walk next to me?" he asked, grey eyes taunting her. "Are the rumours about me that bad?"

"What rumours?"

She ordinarily shared a dorm with Lavender and Parvati and she hadn't heard anything, which given the two girls' predilection for gossip suggested there wasn't anything circulating. "And don't be stupid" she added. "It's just – you don't look overly well. Are you sure you're not coming down with something? Perhaps we should stop by the Hospital Wing on our way back".

"I'm not unwell" he answered shortly and the harshness in his tone made her look up again. She found his face twisted in a sneer. "Despite what your boyfriend might think, there are worse things than dragon pox".

His words hung heavy between them.

"Ron's not my boyfriend" she said eventually, deciding to address the easiest point first. "He's actually with Lavender Brown".

He shot her a half-smirk. "Yes. I'd noticed that".

"It's hard not to" she muttered, thinking of the way Lavender coiled herself as indecently close to Ron as possible in public places at every opportunity she got. She wasn't jealous, despite what people thought, but she didn't enjoy the baby talk, the constant kissing and the fact that one of her best friends now came with a hair-brained narcissist as a package deal. Maybe the time apart in lock down would dampen the fires of their relationship. Then again, it was said that absence makes the heart grow fonder and in Lavender's case it would probably make her clingier too.

"Do we have ourselves a case of unrequited love?" Draco asked, his lips curling.

It was ironic that he was saying that to her. Not that she loved him for Merlin's sake, but it was definitely an appropriate adjective. She very much doubted he thought about her as much as she thought about him.

"No" she snapped. "I don't fancy Ron. Not that it's any of your business".

He responded with his usual delicacy and precision. "But you do fancy someone" he observed, and to her alarm his eyes wandered deliberately down to her lips.

A jolt passed through her tummy. "Why would you think that?" she said, her heart rate picking up. Godric's testicles, he couldn't know could he? The way he was looking at her was wreaking havoc with her brain and general ability to function.

"You'd be a rather boring sixteen year old if you didn't like someone" he murmured and she saw a disconcerting flash of something behind his eyes before he looked away. "Then again, it is you we're talking about".

Before she could decide whether she was more disappointed or relieved by his answer, they heard the unmistakable sounds of heavy breathing and the occasional moan coming from behind Gregory the Smarmy. She hadn't even realised they'd made it down to the third floor.

"Every time" she muttered, trying to sound less ruffled than she felt. "Lumos" she said out loud, and light flared at the end of her wand.

Long raven hair and two bodies entwined in a very close embrace materialised out of the darkness.

Draco grinned at the sight before him, seemingly unfazed by what had just passed between them. "Romilda Vane, I should have guessed. I can only imagine that Blaise will be devastated you've moved on from your little get-together so quickly. And Smith?" he added, as the boy's features were illuminated. "Jesus, I thought you had better taste".

Romilda, who had hastily begun doing up the buttons of her shirt, shot him a dirty look and an accompanying hand gesture.

"Fuck off Malfoy".

"Language" he said lazily, clearly enjoying the situation. "Ten points from Gryffindor. And we're in the middle of an epidemic, in case it had escaped your notice, so trading saliva perhaps isn't the smartest idea".

"If we catch you again this week we'll have to tell McGonagall" Hermione said. "Ten points from Hufflepuff too, but we'll leave it at that if you get back to the Great Hall straight away".

"And Romilda?" Draco drawled. "You might be wanting these".

He flicked his wand and a pair of lacy knickers floated up from the floor and into his hand. Blushing but defiant, Romilda snatched them from him.

"Perv" she snapped, which only made him chuckle.

Shooting Hermione a half-apologetic look she marched off, with Zacharias trailing behind her trying to adjust his trousers.

Draco watched them go with an amused expression.

"You'd have thought people would have found another statue to grope each other behind by now" he mused.

"I think they want to get caught" she said briskly. "See it as a badge of honour or something".

"Have you ever been?" he asked, and his voice was all of a sudden low and enticing. She shivered, despite the fact it wasn't a cold night, and folded her arms in front of herself.

"What?"

"Caught after hours?" he said. His eyes slid over her in the same way as before, making her pulse quicken.

"No" she said quietly. "Have you?"

He shook his head. "I'm not that careless, or inclined to public displays. Call me old fashioned but I'd prefer to spend time with the girl I like in bed".

His words made her core tighten. Was this conversation actually happening or would she wake up in the morning in her four poster to find it had all been a disconcerting erotic dream? Or more likely still, in the hospital wing delirious with a fever. Draco telling her about his bedroom preferences was dangerously seductive, and she felt distinctly like a deer caught in the headlamps.

She licked her lips, which felt very dry. And God help her he watched her do it, his eyes darkening in a way she recognised. Fuck fuck fuck!

"We'd better get on with patrol" she blurted out, knowing that despite fantasising about him noticing her in this way she was entirely unprepared as to how to deal with it in reality. Exchanging insults and one-upmanship in class she could handle – with this she was entirely at sea, a storm raging around her and no sense of where the horizon was.

"We should" he agreed, without making any move. The silence of the sleeping castle seemed to swell around them. She was acutely conscious of how close together they were standing. He was about a head taller than her and she had to crick her neck slightly to look up at him.

"Why are you staring at me?" she asked, biting her lip out of nervous habit and knowing her cheeks were beginning to flush. She hadn't developed a pustule had she? It didn't seem likely, given the way his body was inclined towards her. Surely he would be backing away in disgust if she was starting to look scaly? She could see the rings of blue surrounding his irises, feel his breath on her cheek.

"No reason" he murmured.

Suddenly their proximity, the warmth radiating off his body, everything about the situation, felt too much.

"Malfoy!" she said, slightly desperately.

At her outcry the smirk fell from his face and the moment – she didn't know whether she could class it as "a moment" – was broken.

"Alright Granger" he said coolly, leaning back. "No need to get your knickers in a twist".

He turned away from her abruptly and set off striding down the corridor. She watched him go, taking a second to first pull herself together and control her breathing, before following after him at a slower pace.

Her head was dizzy with questions as she walked through the pools of moonlight spilling through the windows. She wasn't certain that he had been about to kiss her, it wasn't as if she had vast experience of that kind of thing, but she was fairly sure boys didn't get that close to you unless there was some romantic intent.

Why? she thought feverishly. Why was she all of a sudden desirable to him? Wasn't this just complete madness? They were enemies for Merlin's sake, they hated each other! Of course, it wasn't as if she actually hated him…

Her stomach immediately filled with insecurities. Maybe he was so starved of company in lockdown that she had become a final desperate option, a means of passing the slow moving time? Or he would laugh about it to his friends later, describe the way her pupils had undoubtedly widened with a mixture of fear and desire as he'd leaned in toward her, how he could seduce anyone – even the mudblood. He hadn't said that word in a while.

Or, said a small but knowing voice, perhaps he really had been watching her all those times she'd looked round to find him turning away? She didn't know how to feel about any of it. She couldn't help the elation expanding in her chest, but was at the same time appalled at her behaviour. Had she really nearly let Draco Malfoy kiss her?

"What did you mean when you said there are worse things than dragon pox?" she said slowly, a few minutes later when they were nearly back outside the entrance to the Room of Requirement. Whatever else may or may not have happened that night, she wanted to know what was going on with him. And once they finished their patrol it was like whatever spell had been cast over the evening would be over and they would go back to normal.

Draco stood staring up at the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls ballet with a peculiar expression. She recollected Harry telling her and Ron that he kept disappearing off the marauders map for long stretches of time. Could this have been where he was going? Even before they'd been placed in their new living arrangements.

"Do you have the feeling life has been paused?" he said, without looking at her.

She knew exactly what he meant. It felt as if everything was on hold at the moment, some days it was claustrophobic and others it didn't bother her so much, but she couldn't shake the sense of being strangely outside of time while they counted down the days until the Ministry quarantine was over.

"Yes".

"It feels like anything can happen" he said softly, his gaze still fixed on the tapestry. It was like the words were coming out without his volition. "But once it's over, it'll go back to how it was".

He looked so pained in that instant she had the urge to reach out and put her hand on his arm, as if it were Harry or Ron telling her one of their problems.

She took a step towards him. "What do you mean?"

"It's just a reprise" he mumbled, almost inaudible.

"What –?" she began, but at the same time he let out a frustrated growl and turned to face her.

"Forget it" he said, cutting across what she had been about to say and raking a hand through his hair. "Let's go inside, before anybody thinks we've been getting up to something behind old Smarmy".

His mask was back up again, tone mocking.

He went in to the common room ahead of her and she was left standing alone in the darkness with her disappointment, convinced he had been on the verge of revealing something important.

Lockdown was obviously making them all a little crazy.