Author's Note: Hello guys :) So anyway, I had this BAD BOY already written and rearing to go (I've had it for ages, I don't know why I hadn't made a FanFicition account and posted it up before), and I'm stalling because I need to write another chapter for Beneath the Darkness, so I thought I'd post this up for you guys in the meantime. It was originally going to be a oneshot, but I had to go through and edit it and everything all over again, and then I added more things (it was like that meme, I was editing it and chanting "ADD *ALL* THE THINGS!") so it is actually now going to be another longish story :D yaaaaaaay! This setting is entirely different, and I was also considering making this part of the ending of Beneath the Darkness, but this was pretty good on it's own.

So here you go :) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter. I don't own J.K. Rowling either, which is a pity because if I did then I would own Harry Potter too. :)

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"Hermione? Wake up...please..."

The last word was barely a whisper, broken and cracked, spoken from pale lips and an even paler face. Pale blonde hair fell in silvery gray eyes, and Draco Malfoy put his hand on Hermione's cheek.

Every day he came to visit her comatose form. Every day, he'd sit and tell her stories, or simply tell her about his day. Every day, on his departure, he left a fragrant and beautiful bloom, each one a different hue, and with a magical air about them; they never died. A huge vase of them sat on the table beside her bed; a rainbow of roses.

"Today," he began, his eyes watching her face before quickly darting to the floor. "was awful. People still call me a Death Eater, even after my trial and everything." Draco glanced down at his left forearm, which was covered by a long white sleeve. "I have the Mark of a Death Eater, but I never was one...I never wanted to be one anyway; but I told you that already when we were together. I... I wish I could've been brave enough like you would have been to stand up to them today, and back then when I got the Mark, but I..." he took in a deep breath to try and steady his shaky voice; it didn't work. "I just couldn't do it. So I let them laugh at me, point and stare, call me names and insult me to my face as well as behind their hands. I guess I know how you felt in school." he said ruefully, taking her hand as he so often did and rubbing circles into the back of it.

"But I just... sometimes it all gets too much and I..." He glanced at her, then looked away to the window. "I've thought about suicide so many times. It's too much. When I was with you, things were different." He smiled slightly, lost in happy memories. "You were like a sun to me, banishing all the shadows, but when..." He said the next part in a barely-audible whisper. "I have the utensils at home to kill myself in the most painful ways imaginable, I mean, if everyone says I'm... if they really think I'm that bad then maybe I should rid them of myself, but I..." he swallowed. "I just end up thinking about you, and how if I die, I'll never be able to make it up to you. I know we didn't work out, but I..." Draco watched the sky outside lighten. "I have to go now." He said abruptly, standing. "But here." He pulled a dusky red rose from his pocket and laid it delicately on Hermione's bedside table. "Until tomorrow." And Draco walked slowly from the room.

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"I have a story for you today."

Draco took a deep breath and began. "Once upon a time, there was a spoilt prince. He was royalty, and so treated his subjects like they were below him, even though really, he was just insecure. Then one day, his parents died in a horrible attack on the castle. He had to grow up quickly, from a boy into a man very fast.

"One day he met a girl that made his heart flutter, and his palms go sweaty. His parents would have disapproved immensely, as she was considered commoner than dirt. But the prince didn't care. He was a king now, he'd do as he pleased. He'd set new standards for his kingdom.

"But the girl hated him, hated him for treating everyone so horribly, and for getting his way all the time. She loathed him. And he started loathing himself, too.

"Years later, he professed his love for her. She was shocked. She agreed to marry him, but only if he could procure a Phoenix of the rarest kind: a bluey-black bird with a large crest of fire coloured feathers upon its head, and a plume of more fiery colours from its tail.

"And so the king went on a great quest, knowing she'd only accept if he got it himself.

"He travelled very far, across many oceans and many lands, and found himself on his travels. He found he wasn't stupid, or evil, or ugly, or unworthy. He was the opposite of these things, and he realised his self loathing was silly: why should he hate himself if everyone else did? He could still be his own person, he didn't have to listen to them.

"The king searched far and wide, and eventually he found one, and took it back to the girl he wished to marry.

"She was proud of him, and told him that that was a quest for him to find himself, and it didn't matter about the Phoenix.

"They..." Draco faltered, sadness welling up in his chest. "They lived... happily ever after." He stood abruptly, blinking very quickly. "I... I have to go, Hermione." He said hastily. "But here's another rose from my garden in the meantime." Draco plucked a vibrant orange rose from his pocket; it was her favourite colour, and he laid it on the beside table next to her.

He stood by her hospital bed for a few more minutes, surveying her lovely face with sadness and concern in his eyes. Draco held her hand again, wondering at how small her hand was in his. "Hermione, I know I never said this to you before, and there were so many opportunities that I wasted but I..." He swallowed. "I love-"

"Hurry up Harry! She might have woken up!"

Draco whipped his head around as he heard Weasel's voice coming from outside Hermione's hospital room. "I have to leave now." He said, leaning down and kissing her forehead gently. "See you tomorrow night." He pulled the hood of his cloak over his face and walked out of the room, past Scarhead and Weaselbee, who didn't recognise him, and out of St. Mungo's hospital.

Ron ran inside Hermione's room, excited beyond belief, but she was still in her coma, chest rising and falling slowly. He sat down on the bedside chair, dejected, when he saw the rose. Ron bristled. Some guy had the nerve to come in while he wasn't there and give his Hermione bloody flowers!

Harry came in. "Oh... she's still asleep." He saw the rose. "That's nice, maybe it's one of her friends."

Ron relaxed, shoulders slumping forwards again and he smiled. "Yeah, probably."

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Author's Note: The next chapter for this should be up in a couple of hours, and the next chapter for BtD (Beneath the Darkness is too long for my hands to type out, apparently) should be out if not tonight (tonight for me down here in New Zealand, that is), then tomorrow night maaaayyybbeeee.

~Chongy