I'm Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters.
Short Recap:
For someone having spent the past six years of her life with two guys she knew little about what she should do.
So she went with her first instinct; she let him cry on her shoulder.
However weird and un-Hermione like it was, she couldn't just let him stand there crying.
At first he stiffened when she wrapped her arms around him, but he soon relaxed, resting his forehead on her shoulder as she patted him on the back, trying to comprehend the situation as she did so.
She shouldn't have been doing this; she should have been mocking him! She should have been making fun of the fact that Draco Malfoy was crying over a girl!
But Hermione had to have morals when it came to losing someone.
And he truly looked as if like he actually loved Pansy, however impossible it had seemed at first.
Maybe this Malfoy, however absurd and peculiar it seemed, really could love.
Buried Myself Alive
Chapter Three
Nights at the Burrow were not usually depressing, but recently they had become miserable. To Ron, not having Hermione there seemed… wrong. The little comfort of being able to send a letter would have been a heart lightening one. Sadly, however, that wasn't possible. They didn't even have a clue as to where Hermione could be; even the owls couldn't find her.
It was probably the most depressed Ron had ever felt.
Hermione had been the one to balance everything out for Harry and Ron, sort out all of their arguments, make them realize how silly they were being, and force them both to apologize. Without her, they seemed to fight more often, and would take ages to apologize because of their pride.
The world might has well have stopped revolving according to Ron. Nothing was right anymore, everything had changed.
There suddenly was a knock at the kitchen door, the same room which Ron had been sitting in.
He cleared his throat, pulling his wand from his pocket.
"Who is it?" he asked loudly.
There was no answer.
Cautiously, and with his wand at the ready, he pushed the door open.
There was no one standing there. However, there was someone there, on the floor.
Lying at Ron's feet, fist outreached towards the door as if he were about to knock, was a dark cloaked figure with a knife sticking straight out of the center of their back. As if Ron weren't already in a state of panic, a tuft of red hair distinctly stuck out from underneath the hood.
He looked around for any sign of the person who did this. Down the walk, he saw a glimpse of someone. The crack signaled they had already Apparated.
But the flash of blonde that Ron had seen had been unmistakable.
---
One little pebble thrown into a body of water sends a ripple through all it; disturbing the serenity and stillness. To Draco, one pebble after another was being thrown into his life. With Pansy, however, a boulder had been rolled into it.
The stolen kisses they had shared over the past few years in hidden corners lingered in his mind. There were memories of Pansy all around his house. Everywhere he turned he could remember something that they did someplace, or whispered to each other. So in his room he remained.
After blatantly stealing the bed from Granger for a few nights, which was not at all hard, he made an attempt to sleep; to close his eyes; to dream of times when he was happy. Anything but think of Pansy. She loved me, he repeated over and over again as his mantra. Draco didn't really know why he was telling himself it. Granger probably had no idea that Pansy and he had been serious. She probably never had felt that way about anyone.
Who would want to feel anything towards Granger anyway? She was a stupid Mudblood who did not deserve to be loved. Did she ever do anything other than be a bossy know-it-all?
No, she didn't.
He mulled over this even though his head ached, along with every other part of his body.
Maybe, just maybe, he was dying. Nevertheless, that was his hope.
Many bad, horrible things had happened to Draco in the past two years. But this, losing Pansy, was the most heart wrenching. He hadn't felt this way when they had broken up, not this heart broken and empty. In all truthfulness, when they had broken up he had not felt any different then when he was with her. A part of him always knew he would get her back.
But this was so final; absolute. They were not ever going to see each other again; never kiss again; never talk again; never touch again. Nothing, ever again. She was no longer there for him, just a pop away. Pansy was gone.
There are seven said stages of grief: shock, denial, bargaining, guilt, anger, depression and, lastly, acceptance. The final one is always acceptance, no matter what. However, the other six do not necessarily happen in any order; usually depression is a lasting stage that happens throughout the entire grieving period.
But Draco had been trained to be above human emotion, to just accept things as they happened.
He didn't want to accept Pansy's death. Draco wanted to deny it, pretend it didn't happen. But he could not pretend it did not happen; he could not pretend that she was sleeping peacefully in her bed. He could not.
As his stomach did another flip, he rushed out of bed. Whatever contents that had been in his stomach were soon swirling down the porcelain bowl which Draco was lying next to. The tile floor was a welcomed cold against his flushed pale face. He had never been happier to come in contact with his bathroom floor. The room spun as he rolled onto his back; his vision blurring fleetingly as he looked up.
He felt as if his entire system was deteriorating. Someone might as well have hit him over the head with a mallet, because that's how he felt.
He heard footsteps, but could not distinguish where they were coming from; it sounded as if they were surrounding him. He couldn't remember what day of the week was, nor the month or what year. He did not care anymore. Draco did not even know when he had last eaten. It had been almost a week since he found out about Pansy's death. The world had stopped spinning the moment his father had uttered the words of her death and broken the terrible news.
Hermione had known something was bound to go wrong when Malfoy had starting sobbing after Pansy's death. She had known he had stopped eating; she had known that he was not sleeping. Hermione had seen him falling apart in front of her own eyes and she had just let it happen. And this, this moment, with him lying on the bathroom floor, made her feel as if he was getting what he deserved. Like this was just karma, whipping its way back around with a vendetta for Malfoy.
She was not going to say he did not deserve it. Hermione would not let her conscience tell her it was wrong.
But, she did have to sympathize; she couldn't just leave him practically dying on the floor.
"Malfoy," she said as sternly as she could with having just been awoken by the sound of Malfoy vomiting. His eyelids fluttered as his eyes continued searching for her. "Malfoy," repeated Hermione. She was not going to help him, only get him back to his sense so she could go back to sleep. "Malfoy," she repeated once more. "Draco sodding Malfoy," she said louder. Finally, he seemed to realize where her voice was coming from and lifted his head to look at her.
He gave a loud groan, letting his shoulders slump downwards and his head fall onto the tile once more.
"I'm just going to leave you here if you aren't going to help me help you," said Hermione, irritated, slowing kneeling beside him.
Malfoy's response was another groan.
"Is my Mudblood self allowed to help you?"
Yet again, he groaned.
"Fine," she said indignantly, starting to stand. "I'll just lea—"
"I don't need help," said Malfoy faintly.
She rolled her eyes at his attempt at pride, kneeling next to him once more. "And I'm in love with Harry Potter."
Strangely, he chuckled. "Rather him then me," retorted the blonde weakly.
"Not so intimidating when you can't stand," Hermione said smirking.
"I'm just resting," he replied.
"Stop lying," she said. "You're not good at it."
"Just leave me here to die in peace," he grumbled. She sighed, placing a hand on his forehead. He squirmed, moving his head. "What are you doing?"
From what Hermione felt, he was burning up. "I'm seeing what your temperature is," she explained.
"What are you, a human thermometer?"
Rolling her eyes once more, she picked up his hand, feeling for a pulse on his wrist. As she had expected, his heart was beating rapidly.
"Where's your mother at?" she asked, forcing him to sit up.
His head lolled for a few moments before he answered. "Her study, on the east side of the house."
"I'm going to help you into bed," she explained as she put his arm around her shoulder and helped him stand. "Then I'm going to get your mother so she can deal with this."
It took Hermione several minutes to get Malfoy only a few feet; he was swaying and could not put one foot in front of the other. Finally, she sat him onto the bed. Straightening herself out, she started to walk to the door.
But she swore that, as she opened the door, she heard him mumble, "Thanks, Mudblood."
It was not that Hermione did not know which side was the east side of the house, because that was where the library had been; it was the fact that she east side was one fourth of the entire manor. So, it was a pretty big place to search. After one door attempted to bite her hand off, and another started shaking violently at her touch, she was terrified to open the others. If she had a wand it would have been easier. But it was a Wizard house, an old one at that, and anything could have pop out and cursed her.
Finally, when she was about to give up and head back to the bedroom to (sadly) help Malfoy herself, Hermione saw one single door with light coming from beneath it. As she approached, she was glad to see that it was a plain wooden door and knocked. She heard some shuffling, and the door swung open.
Narcissa, with an ever sour look on her face, gave Hermione a sardonic look. "Yes?" she hissed.
"Malfoy's sick," answered Hermione tediously. "He's delirious and vomiting, not to mention how high his temperature is."
Narcissa's face grew from sourness to worry. "Where is he?" she asked Hermione anxiously.
Hermione turned around, leading the older woman to Malfoy's bedroom in an eerie silence. Once she was by his bed, Hermione heard the door slam behind her as Narcissa brushed past her, sitting beside her son and stroking his blonde hair back. "What wrong?" Narcissa asked him in a soothing way.
Hermione watched Malfoy, a person she had known for almost seven years, someone who had always seemed to be so independent from anything having to do with love and compassion, practically melt into his mother's arms. But then again, she reminded herself, it was less than a week ago that he had broken down in front of her.
It was less than a week ago that she had let him cry on her shoulder.
"He's heartbroken," Hermione mumbled. Narcissa's head snapped to Hermione's direction.
"What?" she asked.
She looked up at the older woman. "I said, Mrs. Malfoy, that he's heartbroken."
Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "Pansy did not mean anything to my son," she said, "It was probably something he ate."
"He hasn't eaten for almost a week," continued Hermione. "His system is shutting down because of that and the small amount of sleep he's been getting."
"He sleeps like a baby!" insisted Narcissa, stroking Malfoy's head.
She rolled her eyes at the woman's ignorance. "Yeah, like a baby with an ear infection."
"He's fine," she persisted.
A groan came from Malfoy, signaling that he was now in on the argument. Both women turned to look at him. "Mother," he said faintly. "Get the Mudblood out of here. Don't let father do this." Before Narcissa could talk to him further, his eyeballs rolled backward, into his head. A few seconds later, his eyelids fluttered shut.
Narcissa turned to glare at Hermione. "What did you do to him?"
However, Hermione was in shock. Malfoy had just attempted to get her out of this mess. She figured that even if he were to gain from it too, he would love to see her, the 'Mudblood,' miserable. "I did nothing," she answered. "I was woken up by the sound of him vomiting, and he was practically passed out on the floor. Looking peaky, I might add."
After standing, Narcissa walked passed Hermione without another word. "I'll be calling the doctor in, later today," she said from the doorframe. "Until then, watch him. As his wife, you're going to have to do things like this. I suggest you get used to waiting on him hand and foot."
By the time Hermione had come up with a remark, Narcissa had closed the door. Looking over at Malfoy's sleeping form, Hermione started feeling a little sick herself.
Draco did not feel any better when he woke up later on. If possible, he felt even worse. The room was starting to become light, due to the sun rising, and he could make out the Mudblood's sleeping form on the couch. The sodding Mudblood had actually helped him, and he resented her for that. He could feel the rage building up inside him, getting ready to burst. He let his eyes close as a wave of dizziness hit him.
When he had stumbled into the bathroom, he had realized something was wrong; when he had vomited, he had known; when he was unable to stand without the help of Granger, he was sure he was screwed for life. Mudbloods do not help Malfoys, he thought. Malfoys help themselves.
With that thought, he drifted between sleep and consciousness, jumping when he heard the door to his bedroom open and several pairs of feet enter.
"Ms. Granger," came the smooth voice of his father. His voice sounded close, and Draco guessed his father was standing next to his bed, "Would you care to talk to Dr. Maurrie about my son's current condition?"
Draco did not notice that the Mudblood was awake. "Yes," came a monotonous reply from the bushy haired Mudblood, probably standing near the door. "He has not eaten in almost a week, and barely sleeps at night; he's been vomiting the lining of his stomach."
The doctor finally spoke, his voice like a small mouse and coming from somewhere near Granger. "Why did he stop eating?" Draco knew this doctor; it was his family doctor, the doctor he saw every time his mother was worried he had contracted some exotic disease. He had been the doctor he always went to, never anyone else.
Pansy had gone to Dr. Maurrie too. This thought caused his stomach to do another flip and he held his eyes shut together tightly.
"What's wrong?" he heard the doctor ask him. Sure, he could have answered, he was perfectly capable of it. But Draco didn't want to. He felt as if his voice no longer needed to be used; his blood no longer needed to flow; his heart did not have a need to beat any more. "Can he not speak?"
"He's fine," insisted Granger as Draco continued to lie without answer or action. "He just wants to die because he no longer has Pansy to run the hair gel through hair."
There was a rushed footstep and creak in the floorboard. "You shall not speak of Pansy like that," Draco heard his mother say and Granger wince.
"Let go of me," the Mudblood said, low and dangerous.
Lucius, being ever charming, stepped in. "I apologize for their behavior," he said. "We've all been saddened by the death of the Parkinson family. It affected Ms. Granger here the most; Pansy was supposed to be the maid of honor in the wedding scheduled for November. As of right now, she is insisting that we cannot have the wedding without Pansy, so it has been cancelled."
"I did not know that he was engaged to you, Ms. Granger," said Dr. Maurrie excitedly. "Congratulations."
Draco could not hear her response, but heard the doctor laugh. "Of course, of course," said the mousy voice. "Back to young Mr. Malfoy here, you say he is capable of speech, correct?"
There was a pause and shuffle before his mother answered the doctor. "If he is, my husband and I have heard not," she said politely. "But I doubt that he would pretend."
"I think that, technically, there is nothing wrong," the doctor soon announced, after how long Draco did not know; he must have drifted to sleep. "He just stopped eating, probably after the death of one of his closest and oldest friends. Nothing some good sleep and full meals won't cure."
Narcissa emitted a relieved sigh. After hearing more shuffling, Draco thought they all had left the room and spared to open his eyes a tad. Granger, however, had not left the room. Standing near the closed door, she seemed to be a bit out of it. Her eyes were glazed over, and she looked deep in thought; what she was looking at, Draco couldn't say, but he figured she was not looking at anything in particular. Suddenly, she blinked and looked up at him. There was a long, awkward moment as she glared hard at him. "Don't kill yourself over her," she said quietly. "It's not the "Malfoy" way."
"Screw the Malfoy way," he murmured. This was not a sarcastic comment, or a comment just to reject what Granger was saying. It was a true comment. After the oddly comforting embrace with Granger, he had reverted back to his old Jackass self, and he knew it. That was just the way he was; the way he was raised to be.
But if Draco truly thought about it, did he really want to live by those ideas anymore? Was it not those same ideas that he was raised upon the ones that had caused him to lose Pansy? "The Malfoy Way" was to not attach yourself to anyone, only do things for personal gain; never to love; kill anyone that got in your way while gaining power.
The Parkinsons had been killed because they got in the way of something big; something having to do with the Dark Lord's gain of power. It was something Draco could never have stopped. Something only he could hope was stopped by someone else.
---
Hermione could not stand sleeping any longer once the sun had risen. Her dreams had been filled with Ron and Harry. So she got up, as quietly as she could, and changed into some day clothes. Over the past week, she had gotten used to wearing the Muggle clothing which Narcissa had collected to wear over the years. The strangest part was how they all fit perfectly.
She went about her business for the next two hours, reading until Narcissa, followed closely by Lucius and a man Hermione had never seen before, burst through the door. From what Hermione gathered, he was the doctor. With mousy brown hair, and a mousy voice, the man fully reminded Hermione of a pet mouse her cousin had once had. She looked over at Malfoy and noticed that he was awake, however subtle he tried to remain.
Lucius stepped in Hermione's view of Malfoy suddenly and gave her an unreadable smirk. "Ms. Granger," he said, in what would be recognized as a smooth voice by the doctor. "Would you care to talk to Dr. Maurrie about my son's current condition?"
"Yes," said Hermione tediously, "He has not eaten in almost a week, and barely sleeps at night; he's been vomiting the lining of his stomach."
Dr. Maurrie looked at Malfoy several times, but did not move any part of his body other than his eyes. Finally, he spoke. "Why did he stop eating?" he asked. The doctor must have noticed Malfoy move, because he then moved closer to the bed. "What's wrong?" he asked the young man. After sitting in another silence, he turned back to everyone else. "Can he not speak?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, sick of Malfoy's game; she knew that he was awake. "He's fine," she said, annoyed. "He just wants to die because he no longer has Pansy to run hair gel through his hair."
Before she could react, Narcissa had rushed across the room and taken Hermione's wrist in a tight grip. "You shall not speak of Pansy like that," she threatened.
Hermione lowered her own voice. "Let go of me," she replied.
Lucius turned to Dr. Maurrie as Narcissa released Hermione's wrist and only glared. "I apologize for their behavior," he said smoothly. "We've all been saddened by the death of the Parkinson family. It affected Ms. Granger here the most; Pansy was supposed to be the maid of honor in the wedding scheduled for November. As of right now, she is insisting that we cannot have the wedding without Pansy, so it has been cancelled."
WHAT! Hermione's mind screamed. What exactly was he trying to pull?
Suddenly, realization hit Hermione. Didn't the doctor know that Lucius had only escaped from Azkaban a little over a week earlier? Why wasn't Lucius being taken away?
"I did not know that he was engaged to you, Ms. Granger," the doctor said with an exited squeak, pulling Hermione out of her musings, "Congratulations."
"Neither did I," she mumbled.
Strangely, Dr. Maurrie only laughed. "Of course, of course! Back to young Mr. Malfoy, you say that he is capable of speech, correct?"
However, before Hermione could answer, Narcissa cut in. "If he is, my husband and I have heard not," she said. "But I doubt that he would pretend."
The doctor than examined a seemingly sleeping Malfoy. After several minutes, he announced that he did not believe Malfoy had come down with a fatal disease, and only needed rest and food.
No matter what the doctor told them about Malfoy's condition, Hermione knew. She knew that he needed a lot more than just sleep and food; she knew that he needed Pansy; that there was more to it than just grief. He had lost the person he had loved the most; it was tearing him up inside.
Hermione thought of the time her pet fish had died. She had only been five at the time, and had taken the death hard. She remembered crying for over and hour, convincing her mother that they needed to have a proper funeral for the fish. It was the middle of winter, and the snow was over two feet deep; her mother obviously had said "no," but had suggested that, if Hermione truly wanted to, she could go outside herself.
So Hermione went outside, several layers of clothing on, a shovel in one hand, and the box containing her fish in another. After an hour, she returned inside with a triumphant look on her tear-streaked face. Burying the fish, however little of time she had it (and she doubted she loved the nameless fish), had been the closure. It had been her way of accepting it. Hermione knew that she could not have Malfoy go and bury Pansy, but she knew that he had not gotten the closure he needed; he had not truly accepted her death. He had accepted his own death.
She looked up from the carpet, which had been the staring spot while she mused, only to see Malfoy staring at her through drooping eyes. An awkward silence fell upon them as they stared at one another. "Don't kill yourself over her," she spoke quietly. "It's not the "Malfoy" Way."
He stared for a moment. The words that came from his mouth shocked Hermione. "Screw the Malfoy way."
---
"Listen to this, Malfoy," said Granger excitedly from the couch, a book propped on her knees. Draco rolled his eyes. His mother was forcing him to stay in his bed for a few days, and the Mudblood was his only company. "It says in here that the binding charm that is performed can only be successfully performed if both parties are willing. Neither of us are willing!"
"Does it also mention how that is only a ceremony performed for public weddings?" he asked, irritated.
Her face and shoulders fell. "No," she said as she turned the page.
"Does it also fail to mention that, if the parents of one are willing, the wedding can involve a binding charm?"
She sighed. "No."
Draco smirked; she was so clueless when it came to Wizarding tradition. "Just put the book away, and let me sleep."
Granger lifted her head from behind the book and her eyes narrowed. "You know your mother told me you cannot sleep until after you've eaten dinner."
He rolled his eyes again. "Does she not understand that I am not eating?" he asked angrily, folding his arms across his chest.
"Sadly," said Granger, her head now hidden behind the book once more, "She wants you to live."
To Draco, it was completely unfair of his parents to control everything in his life. He even had a bedtime now. They would not let Draco kill himself in peace!
Oh, the unfairness of the world.
It had been several days since the visit from Dr. Maurrie, and Draco was going insane. He had to spend every second of his day with Granger. His mother claimed that they could get to know each other before the wedding.
Draco would marry anyone other than Granger. Anyone. How was he expected to marry one of the people he had hated for the past six years? How as he expected to actually get to know Granger?
"Granger," he said, annoyed once more as she turned the page. "Stop turning the pages before I take the book from you and smack you with it."
Slowly, and calmly, she put the book face down on her knees. "I am trying to get us out of this!" she said, turning a bright red. "You should be helping me, not stopping me!"
Draco rolled his eyes once more. "Get over it, Granger," he told her. "It's going to happen whether we like it or not."
Her face grew dark. "This could help us out of this whole marriage thing!" she persisted, certainness in her voice. "Something in this very book which I hold in my Mudblood hands is the key out of this!"
Before Draco could react or remark, Lucius had opened the door and strode in.
"I'll be taking that, Ms. Granger," he said calmly, outstretching his hand, waiting for her to put the book in his palm so he could burn it and any chances of them ruining his plans.
Granger, however, stood her ground. "No," she said bravely. "It's not fair that you get to know everything. I want to have a fighting chance."
"Sadly," said Lucius coldly, tearing the book from the young woman's hands, "I'm not a fair person. Just to make life even more unfair for you, I am banning you from leaving this room. You are not to enter any room in the house without permission, most specifically the library. You are only to step foot into the hall during an emergency or for mealtimes."
With the book in his hands, and the room reasonably more heated than it had been before, Lucius Malfoy swept from Draco's bedroom, leaving behind two very ticked off people.
---
Author's Note: I would just like to explain that the part with Ron at the beginning happens the same night as what comes after it with Draco and Hermione. Remember this. Also, I tend to overlap things. It will show it in third person Draco, then third person Hermione. This only happens with some dialogue, but anything having to do with Draco and Hermione at the beginning pages are overlapping. I would like to thank all of my reviewers, in case I did not personally thank some of you like I have been trying with the "Reply" thing. I would also like to thank Monica for beta-ing this for me. Even though it took her a few months. :) It doesn't matter how long she took, because she did a wonderful job. Trust me.
Your Author,
Lee
IMPORTANT NOTE BY LEE'S BETA: Please do not be angry with Lee for the long time it took to update this. It is my fault. I've had this chapter in my possession for several months, and only just finished it. I promise to do things quicker from now on.
Love,
Monica
P.S. Author's Note: Don't really be mad at Monica. I wasn't planning on posting this until after On My Own was finished anyway. And OMO was not finished until about two weeks ago anyway. So put away the torches and pitchforks. Now. :)