[A/N: So, I have been looking forward this chapter. Also, I have a review!

LadiePhoenix007: Thank you so much for your review! It very much seemed to me like something Hermione would do. The question seems to remain what will Harry and Ron do, but that will have to wait for a future chapter.

As a disclaimer, Harry Potter and all related people and places belong to JK Rowling, Aislinn Connall and other related characters are mine.

As always, I hope you enjoy! ^_^]

Chapter Four- One More Breath

What- Where am I? Draco thought as he began to wake. Am I still alive? He paused for a few moments as he drew in a slow, deep breath. I think so. He paused again. In the silence of his mind, one word arose: Why?

One breath followed another. One more breath.

He felt the remnants of the Dreamless Sleep potion he had been under. He fought to keep himself alert even though he wanted to fall back into the abyss. Draco did not trust himself to move much, nor did he really want to. He tried to lift his head slightly, but he immediately gave up on that when he felt his head start to pound.

He knew the causes of that particular headache.

He opened his eyes and found himself staring at the ceiling. He knew he was in Hogwarts, but he did not quite recognize the room. His eyes fluttered closed, but he forced them to open again. He shifted his gaze to the right and saw the blue bottle hanging above him. Part of him would have sighed if he had the energy, but instead his eyes fluttered closed again.

He drew in a slow breath, exhaled and drew in another.

He opened his eyes again. His mind felt clouded. This time he tried to look around. He glanced to his left, careful not to move his head, and as he brought his eyesight toward the right, he saw that he was in a room that had three other beds, one to his left and two on the other side of the room. He remembered the hospital wing being bigger. He sight came to a stop on his right and stared for a moment at what he saw.

What is the mudblood doing here? He thought. He tried to ask as much, but he felt his eyes drooping shut again.

Everything went dark.

Draco heard voices that brought him out of his sleep. He felt someone pull the sheet back from where it sat at his shoulder. He kept his eyes closed. He could feel the potion trying to make him care, but regardless of whatever anyone else thought, the potion could not replace his desire to care about things. Even with the potion, he just did not care enough to try to open his eyes. The headache was still there, waiting just of his eyelids.

″See?″ he heard someone say.

Is that Pansy? He thought. It is. What is she doing here?

″But why would he do that to himself?″ Crabbe said.

Pansy replied, ″You've heard the same stuff I have. Voldemort has given him something to do, and apparently he wanted out.″

″So, what does that mean?″ Goyle asked.

Draco heard Pansy sigh before replying, ″That would seem to make him a bloodtraitor, though I suppose he isn't completely lost yet.″ Draco thought he could feel her eyes boring into him, but he did not care to check. ″He's probably going to be asleep for a while. It's no use waiting here.″

Draco heard their footsteps walking away, and then he heard the door close.

A blood traitor? The words echoed in his mind. I'm not- I- I just- Why did they put me on this stuff?

He had grown familiar with the effects of the potion he was currently on since his parents had been forcing him to take it the whole summer, since the first time he had tried to take his own life. It had taken a little over a week for it to wear off, but then, of course, the school had to put him back on it.

Over the past while- he wasn't even sure how long it had been- he had grown accustomed to the lack of caring, the lack of motivation, the lack of feeling. This potion, though, made it harder to separate himself from those feelings, both the bad ones that made him feel worse, and the good ones that got in the way of what he knew he had to do. He could not gain quite enough distance to be able to do anything effective. And yet, the potion for whatever the potion was supposed to do, it did not remove the bad thoughts and feelings. That was the worst part. He wanted to just find an end to all of this, and he knew that there was only one way, but he was trapped in the spiraling thoughts.

He tried to rip the tube from his arm, but as soon as he moved, Madam Pomfrey was at his bedside, and before he knew what happened, he found himself drifting once more into darkness.

The darkness faded, and when Draco's eyes opened, his sight fell on Hermione.

The mudblood is back... Why would she be here?

He took a breath as he waited for his mind to clear a bit, then he took one more breath before he asked, ″What are you doing here, Granger?″ He had intended the question to carry more of the disdain he felt toward her, but he could not ignore the listlessness he heard in his own voice.

Hermione jumped a tad at the question. She had had her nose buried in a book. No doubt probably some Muggle book.

″Malfoy, you're awake? How are you feeling?″ Hermione asked as she closed book.

″Why should you care?″ he asked.

″Because you don't seem like your usual self, and that gives me hope for the kind of man you may become. I noticed something last week in Potions and again Defense Against the Dark Arts. You seemed...″ Her voice trailed off as though she could not choose the right way to finish the sentence, so she continued, ″And then when I heard what happened, I-″

″How did you hear about that?″ Draco asked. Why can't I go back to not caring?

″I overheard Professor Snape talking about it with Professor McGonagall.″ Draco said nothing, so Hermione continued, ″I want to help you.″

″Why?″ Draco asked. ″Why would you want to help me?″ Why would you when my so-called friends don't even want to help me? he thought.

Hermione scooted her chair a little closer to the bed, and leaned toward him, looking him in the eye. ″Because I don't think you are as bad as you or anyone else might think.″

Without even thinking about the words he was saying, they were so instinctual, he asked, ″And why should it matter what you think, mudblood?″ Even to himself, his voice sounded thick, like the words did not belong there. He was not surprised she heard it.

He could not figure out why it looked like she was trying to hide a smile at that. ″I've heard you say that word many times, Draco Malfoy, but you have never seemed to doubt it. This time it sounds like you do.″

Why does she think I'm so bloody changed?

Hermione added, almost in answer to his thought, ″As I said, you seem different.″

What am I supposed to say to that? Draco pondered.

For a long moment, silence filled the room.

″What time is it?″ Draco asked, though what he really meant was How long has it been?

″It's about one, a little after. Monday night going into Tuesday.″

It's been a day, he thought. That would explain why I'm feeling this way.

He remembered what he felt like the first time he had been in this position, but his mother found him before he was too far gone. If she was scared then, he almost didn't want to know her reaction to learning how close he came last night. He could feel just how week he was from the recent blood loss. Was the first time only two months ago? His mother had made sure he ended up under the effects of the same potion he currently had in him, and things only got worse once his father arrived back home. A month in Azkaban, and then his father had found a way to convince the right people that he was innocent and he should be let out.

Draco shook his head slightly in a partially successful attempt to clear his mind of his father's homecoming. ″If it is that late, why are you here? Curfew is in effect. I wouldn't think you would have it in you to break the rules, and certainly not for me. Shouldn't you be in bed. Or...″ As soon as he said that, a thought came to him about her presence there. ″Why do I get the feeling I am under a suicide watch?″ Hermione said nothing, but he could tell from the look on her face that he was right. ″And somehow you ended up on it.″

″Yes, you are, and yes I did,″ she replied. She was silently thankful for the patience and she had received from dealing with her own friends for the past five years. She was calling on every ounce of that patience to not rush the conversation before he was ready. Clearly he isn't quite able to break through his conditioning, as he has quite a few barriers in place between myself and him. Still he wants to get rid of the misconceptions he has been taught. I know it. ″You have quite a few people who don't want to see anything bad happen to you.″

″If that were true, you all would have let do what I needed to do.″

″Why do you need to do that?″ Hermione asked, not quite willing to give voice to his actions.

″Kill myself?″ Draco asked, not burdened with the same sensibilities as the Muggle-born witch. ″It is the only way to protect everyone else. I can't get out of this any other way.″

″Get out of what? How is you killing yourself going to protect anyone else?″

Draco could tell that her questions were partly because she could not stand not knowing his motivations, and partly she was asking because she actually seemed to care about him. At least that makes one of us who cares.

″Because,″ he hesitated. What do I have to lose? ″I am supposed to kill Dumbledore.″ He tried to ignore her shocked gasp. ″I can't do this, and I know that if I fail, I'll be lucky if death is the only consequence. Not to mention that any kind of attempt, successful or not, would mar my family's name, and I cannot do that to them.″

″I think your father's actions have already done that. He ended up in Azkaban after the fight at the Ministry. He won't be out for a while.″

″He's been out for about a month and a half,″ Draco replied.

″What?″ Hermione blurted out. She forgot about trying to hide any major reactions. First he says he is supposed to kill Professor Dumbledore, and now his father is out of Azkaban... Voldemort has his right hand man back, and yet he is still punishing Draco for his father's mistake? ″Why wasn't that in the Prophet?″

″Money and a convincing lie can achieve any result, even getting out of Azkaban without raising any major questions. That kind of press would not help him or the Ministry.″ Draco shook his head slightly before adding, ″He is out, and chances are he will be here soon enough once the teachers inform my parents.″

″What was that for?″ Hermione asked.

″What?″

″There was a look you just made- Something in your eyes. You're afraid, aren't you? Afraid of your father,″ she replied. Draco wanted to believe she was laughing at him for it because that might make it easier to hate her, but as he looked at her, he saw she was as serious as he was

Draco said nothing. He couldn't say anything, and he couldn't fight back the thoughts that came to his mind. He rubbed his jaw, trying to remove the phantom pain from the last time he saw his father. It was the morning of his return to Hogwarts before he had left the house. His father rarely accompanied him to the train station.

It had always been tough around his father, but Draco had adapted quickly. He had learned to recognize his father's moos. Since his father's return from Azkaban, and learning of Draco's task from Voldemort, the slightest movement out of line on Draco's part would set his father off.

After a long, uncomfortable moment, Hermione believing she was right in her guess, but wishing to move to a slightly different subject, asked, ″How are you doing?″

″Wishing I was dead. I thought you knew that.″ Again his voice sounded off to him. The twinge he felt in his chest at those words made him almost wish they were not true.

″I did, but you are not, and it seems like at least part of you, however small wants to find a different way out of your current situation. That small part of you knows that there is another way.″

″What other way?″ he asked, unable to keep his voice from rising. ″I will be dead by the end of this year whether it is by someone else's hand, or my own. Those are my only two choices, and I don't need any help from a mudblood like you to know that. I've never been a bloodtraitor, and I have no intention of becoming one now.″

Hermione saw his anger turning to doubt turning to sadness before her eyes. She knew from the blank gaze that he was caught up in his own thoughts. She opened her book and stared at the pages. She began to read, but every so often she would glance at the blond boy in the hospital bed who looked far younger than she had ever seen him. He laid down and turned his back to her.

There is another way, Draco, she thought. There is.

As his breathing steadied, she turned her attention back to her book and waited for Professor Snape to relieve her from the watch.