Title Love Kills
Author: savvyshka
Prompt: #4. Lovesickness. A tale of love over a great distance and how it (psychologically) affects the two parties involved.
Prompt submitted by: ally_147
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Word Count:~ 6200
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU, explicit sexual situations, angst, profanity.
Summary: Part not with your loved ones.
Author's notes: Enormous thanks to my wonderful beta, to mods for organising this fest and to ally_147 for the excellent prompt.

Love Kills*
(A Year and A Day)

Chapter Two

Anthony Goldstein was well known among the Aurors – he had treated many of them, including Draco. Hence, it took only a few minutes to find him. The door to his office was open, and Draco could see Anthony scribbling something in one of the many charts that covered the wooden surface of his desk.

Draco knocked and entered, not waiting for an invitation. Despite that blatant act of trespass, Anthony seemed happy to see him. "Draco, thank Merlin you're back," he exclaimed, springing up and rushing toward him. Enthusiastically shaking Draco's hand, he went on, "How did your big assignment go?"

Unwilling to spend any more time on talk, Draco changed the subject. "Hermione? How is she?" Hoping, perhaps against the odds, to hear something positive, he intently watched Anthony's expression.

Alas, the frown that appeared on Anthony's face didn't imply anything optimistic. Anthony's blue eyes clouded with concern, and he sighed. "Harry's already filled you in, I reckon. I can't tell you anything encouraging. I'm at my wit's end here, to be honest. I've tried everything, and nothing has worked." He patted Draco's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

A wave of dizziness rolled through Draco, and he had to close his eyes and clench his teeth until it passed. "May I see her?"

Anthony nodded. "Of course. I just want to show you something first. It won't take long." He rummaged through the drawers of his desk. "Here," he announced eventually and handed Draco a leather notebook. "I think it's Hermione's diary, or something of the sort. It's warded against strangers, of course, and even Harry couldn't open it. So I was hoping that perhaps you would be able to succeed where he failed. It may give me a hint of what happened. Merlin knows I need a little help here."

As far as Draco was concerned, Hermione hadn't been into diaries. Frowning, he turned the leather cover and felt the gentle warmth of Hermione's magic welcoming him. The scent of jasmine reached his nostrils, and her painfully familiar handwriting appeared in neat rows before him. The sudden prickling in his eyes caught him by surprise, and he stifled a groan. Malfoys didn't cry in public. It just wasn't done.

"It let you in," he heard Anthony whisper behind him. "Just as I thought."

Draco hastily shut the notebook – he hated when people peeked over his shoulder – and, irritated, snapped, "Take me to her."

Reluctantly dragging his gaze from the journal, Anthony muttered, "Yes, yes, follow me," and led him through the labyrinth of depressing, sterile-smelling corridors.

When they stopped in front of a blank white door, Anthony gave Draco's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, said, "I'll check on you later," and took off down the corridor, disappearing around the corner. Listening to his receding footsteps, Draco placed his hand on the doorknob and hesitated. The lump in his throat reappeared, this time accompanied by a thumping in his ears. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, took a breath, turned the doorknob, and walked in.

The light in the room was dim, and after the clinical brightness of the corridor, he could barely make out the silhouette of his beloved witch. He crept closer, and there she was, on a narrow cot, with her chocolate curls all tangled and spread on the pillow, peacefully slumbering, unaware of the havoc she had wreaked around herself. She looked almost as he remembered her, only a bit paler and thinner.

Collapsing ungracefully on his knees, he found her hand, and clasping it in his, brought it to his lips, whispering, "Granger, Granger, look what you've done, you silly girl. You have to wake up, baby. Do you hear me? You can't leave me hanging like this. I'm here now, and I need you so bloody much." His eyes began to sting again, but this time he didn't care. He didn't keep secrets from Granger, and there was no need to pretend. With her, he could drop his stoic façade and feel … and cry. And so he did, peppering her skin with kisses mingled with tears, childishly cherishing the hope that maybe, just maybe, his kisses or his tears would wake her up. Alas, that particular fairy-tale trick didn't work.

He didn't know how many hours he spent kneeling at her bedside. His sense of time and reality abandoned him, but he didn't mind. Somehow both notions lost their significance for him. All those months, only his thoughts and dreams about Hermione had kept him afloat. He wouldn't have made it if it hadn't been for the knowledge that she was waiting for him. Now, caught unawares by the grim reality before him, he found himself at a loss. As always, at the moment of weakness, misery sneaked up on him, and unable to fight, he let it settle deep inside him. A trance of despair began to consume him, and he was almost ready to plummet into its gloomy waters, when someone shook his shoulder.

Snapping from his daze, he was met by Anthony's worried eyes. "You'll give yourself a crick in the neck," Anthony said and pointed to a nearby chair. "Sit. I have enough patients as it is."

Draco rose from the floor, pushed the chair closer to the bed and sat down, once again taking Hermione's hand in his. Feeling the Healer's gaze, he turned to him and asked, "What's the plan?"

Anthony sighed. "I think, first of all, you need a good night sleep," he said, peering into Draco's eyes, which were probably red. "Because, frankly, you look half-dead."

"I'll live." Draco waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"All right, in that case, I really think that you have to read Hermione's journal," Anthony said with sudden enthusiasm. "I need to know what brought her to this." He motioned towards the sleeping witch.

Anthony's obsession with the journal grated on Draco's nerves, and yet, if there was even a trace of hope, he wasn't about to disregard it. "And what am I supposed to look for?"

"Well, I think Hermione suffers from magical - " Anthony began.

"Melancholy," Draco finished. "Yes, I know. Potter told me. Doesn't sound like something you can't wake up from, to be honest."

"Correct. There is a bit more to it, though. This condition can be caused by an array of factors, such as grief and stress, and it usually manifests itself in weakened magical abilities as well as other symptoms: insomnia, mood swings, weight loss, lethargy, and so on. Sometimes, however, it can be triggered by lovesickness. I suspect that is what happened to Hermione."

"Lovesickness," Draco repeated quietly, slumping under a fresh weight of guilt. How could he have been so reckless as to leave her alone? How? HOW? The questions pulsed in his temples. "I didn't know," he whispered to himself, hating the fact that he sounded just like Potter.

Sensing Draco's turmoil, Anthony patted his shoulder again. "Listen, I've read a lot about it these past few weeks. I believe that now you are here, we can beat this thing. I just need to understand why she doesn't want to wake up. To be honest, I hoped that your arrival would work, but, apparently, Hermione Granger is being stubborn."

Draco chuckled. "That's one of the things Hermione Granger is brilliant at. Being stubborn."

Anthony smiled. "I guess you ought to know everything about it."

The smile didn't stay on the Healer's face for long. Turning to Hermione, he drew his wand and began chanting spells, which Draco recognised as diagnostic. As he watched Anthony checking organ after organ, Draco felt a surge of determination. Somehow, his words had given him the reassurance he needed. Bringing Hermione's hand to his lips, he muttered, "Let's see who is the stubborn one."

Soon, Anthony had finished his examination. "Read the diary, Draco, and we'll dance from there," he said, and went to the door. "Call me if you need me," he added before leaving the room.

The moment the door closed, Draco fished the notebook from his pocket. For a few long moments, he just looked at it, caressing the leather cover with his fingertips. A thought came to him, and he stood up and drew his wand. After a few softly-spoken spells, the cot was converted into a wider bed. Climbing into the bed, he lay down alongside Hermione and carefully shifted her until her head lay on his chest. "That's better," he muttered, marvelling at her closeness. Then he opened the notebook. The scent of jasmine once again filled his nostrils, and Hermione's neat handwriting appeared on the first page. Whispering, "Hello, baby. I'm here," he began to read.

September 28

God, I feel so childish writing here. I haven't had a diary since … actually, I think I've never had a diary. It's just … Ugh, I don't know. Maybe it's stupid, but I don't want to burden Harry or Ginny with my problems. Besides, it's too personal, and I don't feel comfortable talking about it with either of them. So when I saw this notebook in Flourish & Blotts, it seemed like a good idea to start a diary, and its leather cover smelled so good. Somehow, the scent reminded me of the gloves you use for flying. Merlin, what I wouldn't give to feel your hands in those gloves caressing me. Gah, now I have a fetish for leather gloves. It's all your fault, you know. You've ruined me … and I love you for it.

Anyway, here we go.

I miss you. It's been three months since you left. Summer is gone, and the rain is killing me. Strange. I always loved rain. The truth is that autumn brings melancholy, and I'm not sure how to handle it, and those gloomy, rainy days are not helping. Perhaps I'll try to work more. It's always helped until now. I'll ask Kingsley for another project tomorrow. He'll be glad to oblige.

Love you, baby.

October 12

I love you, Draco. So much. There are moments when I can't find words to describe my love for you, and how terribly I miss you. At times, it seems that every inch of my body is thirsty for you. I am thirsty for you. My love and my desire for you are fused into a scorching-hot ball inside me, and it burns. It burns!

Am I weak? Whiny? I think I am.

I touch myself to dull the longing. Alas, it's not the same, not the same at all. (Goodness, I can't believe I just wrote that. I ought to ward this diary.)

October 22

Gave myself a good, long onceover this morning. Big mistake. I look awful. My hair is even more atrocious in this damp weather. It's really done a number on my stupid curls.

Hmm, I wonder … whatever did you find in me? You once said that I had a spark inside me. Do I still have it? I certainly don't see it now.

November 1

Something is not right, and I hate it.

November 10

I hate evenings. Hate their gloominess. Days I can endure, but evenings and nights are the worst, and I loathe them with passion. Books haven't enticed me lately. Who would've thought that it could happen with me? And yet, here I am. I just can't focus when everything reminds me of you.

It's been five months. It seems like centuries to me. I thought that, with time, I'd get used to being without you. No such luck. I need to see you, to feel you, to touch you, to breathe in your scent. My body betrays me with its demands. I need to feel you inside me. Lately, I've felt like one huge, walking, breathing NEED. It's appalling, and I don't like being so needy, but this is stronger than me. I'm not in a good place, Draco. It doesn't feel like my usual self.

This. Is. Not. Me.

November 29

Somehow, my everyday work in the Ministry has turned into a tedious task. I used to get so excited about new projects. Not any more. The routine has sucked all the joy from my job, and my reality consists of a string of grey, undistinguished days that turn into weeks … months. I know I need to fight this. But how?

I need sun. I need oxygen. I need you. Instead, I have rain. Freezing cold rain, and it's killing me. I think I will never love rain again. Never.

I miss the taste of your skin.

December 14

Winter is here, and it has frozen everything in sight, including me. That ball of desire and love inside me is gone. Now, I'm just an icy shell. Frozen. Bereft. Alone.

December 23

Christmas without you is miserable. I am miserable.

Poor Harry, he wants his old Hermione back and tries so hard to fix me. Alas, he can't. I need you. Only you know how to fix me.

God, I miss your lips so much. I miss all of you.

January 15

Why did you have to leave? Why?

Ugh, I'm such a drama queen. Who would have thought that Hermione Granger was a melodramatic cow who can't control her emotions? In my mind, I understand everything. I know you are doing a great service to our world. And yet, and yet, sometimes, I catch myself thinking, 'Why?' I can't even bear being around Harry any more because he is here, and you are not, and I despise him for that. How very egoistical of me.

Loneliness is a terrible, cruel thing. It's already eaten my heart, and now it's messing with my head.

January 27

The void. Cold, black nothingness has settled inside me. Lethargy is my best friend nowadays. I breathe. I eat. I do my work. I smile to Harry. But I feel empty. My world stands still. Has my heart stopped beating, and do I somehow keep living without it? It certainly feels that way. Is there a point in breathing when your heart is dead?

February 26

I haven't heard your voice since June. I haven't felt your skin against mine for nine months. I haven't had an orgasm in ages. Touching myself doesn't work, no matter how hard I try. I'm sexually frustrated and lonely. Sometimes, it seems that not only my heart but also all my insides have shrivelled like an autumn leaf.

I wish I could dream about you. Come to me. Take me. Let me pleasure you; drink you. I need to feel your hot come going down my throat, nourishing me. I'm parched for you. Please, please, come back to me, Draco, I beg you. I have no pride left, no shame, just an overwhelming need to have you near me.

March 11

I think something in the universe heard my plea, because I dreamt about you last night. It was so very vivid and sensual … and real. I felt you. I even could smell you. A pity that it was so short. I woke up too early. I didn't get my fill of you. Yes, yes, I'm greedy, so very greedy. I know. But the burning ball of desire is back, and it demands more. Much, much more.

March 30

You came to me again last night, and it was glorious. In the morning, somewhere between slumber and awakening, it felt so … tangible. Your scent, your touch, your breath – all of it seemed so real. Alas, I opened my eyes to an empty bed.

Alone.

The reality is brutal.

I felt disoriented all day. For the first time ever, I didn't turn in my report on time. Kingsley looked disappointed, and, you know, the strangest thing happened. I didn't feel bad about it. I couldn't bring myself to care, to be honest. All I wanted was to get home and dream about you. Reality doesn't attract me all that much any more.

April 5

My nights are so much better than my days. Hmm, I wonder … what if I can make my dreams last longer? Let's say two days. That way, I'll be able to spend a weekend making love to you in my dreams, instead of slowly dying in my empty flat. I must investigate that.

Am I delusional? Perhaps I am. I don't care.

April 15

I called in sick today. Again. There are plenty of reasonably competent people at the Ministry. They can certainly manage a few days without me.

I have my new 'sleep brew' ready. I bought it yesterday from Severus Snape's new apothecary. He squinted at me with suspicion, probably because it's the third formula I've bought in ten days. Whatever. It's not my fault that the others didn't work.

I want to see you more often. What's so wrong with that? I just can't stand my empty days any longer. In my dreams everything is so vibrant, so alive. Even if you are not there, I can just wait for you, right? Right?

May 6

I brewed my own formula. You know what they say: if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. Well, I've done it. I have a formula that will keep me asleep but won't interfere with my dreams. I took two weeks off work. I don't think they will miss me there since I've been virtually useless lately.

… I took the potion. I have about five minutes – just enough time to get into bed.

Already in bed, anticipating … Merlin, I think it's working.

Come to me, Draco. I'll be waiting for you there, in my dream.