This was hard to write. Unexplainably hard to write, so please forgive any errors on my part. Thank you for all the nice words of encouragement. I really do appreciate it. The ending to this chapter was the very first thing I wrote when I started working on this project, and I'm happy to finally reach this point. Read and review!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The closet was stocked mostly with cotton balls and bandage wrappings. It was small and narrow, but big enough for him to fit inside. He'd started losing weight again, and it was easy for curl his frame around the boxes. No one would find him. He suspected no one was even looking for him. The floor was made of a soft carpet that tickled against his cheek if he moved his head. He would rather be somewhere with a hard floor, but the carpet was a small comfort. In the silence, he could hear himself breathing, one breath after another. When he was a child, he often liked to go swimming at a lake near the Malfoy summer home, and he would spend hours disappearing and reappearing on the surface of the water. He would stay under to see how long he could hold his breath before coming up, and he loved the feeling of oxygen coursing through his lungs. He had been strong then, with a fit and able body and a clear mind. It hurt almost to think about how different things were now. As he breathed in and out, he counted each inhale, thinking that at one moment, one of those breaths might be his last. How fitting to die this way.


Draco missed her. He knew there was no denying it. He missed her so much. By shutting Astoria out, Draco had removed most sources of happiness he had found over the past few months in St. Mungo's. With Astoria, he had shut off reading Les Miserables, card games with the other patients, and conversations at meal times. He sat alone unless Logan came to sit with him. The boy asked him once why Astoria wouldn't sit with them anymore, and Draco clenched his fists and flipped his tray over in answer. Logan never asked again.

It was back to the way it was before. There was nothing to do but reflect on the thoughts in his mind, and more and more those thoughts were taking him to bad places. More and more he regretted shutting her out, but Draco knew it was too late. He had made a choice, and Astoria was better off this way. His baggage wasn't hers to carry, and his brain worked hard to convince himself that it was the right thing to do. Sometimes though, he would steal glances of her when he was sure she wouldn't be looking. She always looked the same, long brown hair and green eyes. She'd smile to someone or talk to a fellow patient. The scars on her face would stick out against the bright lights in the dining hall, and he'd suck in a breath if her eyes flickered towards him. A few times, Astoria would approach him, but he would find a way to dodge her and exit. She was better off. He found it ironic that the most selfless thing he'd ever done was killing him.

As the days went by, he decided to not go to meals. It started out as a way to not have to see Astoria, but then he thought it was just better to not go. He skipped out on free time in the common area, and spent most days in his bed or in a closet. During the night, he would often slip from his bed and wander the corridors, waiting for the sun to come up. He felt tired, but his brain would not rest. Behind his eyelids lay a world more clear and violent that he wanted to face. He realized it was time for him to go.

Draco Malfoy was dying, slowly but almost surely.


"Glad to see you up today Draco," Healer Derwent said as he sat at his desk. Draco sat across from him, arms resting on his chair. His face was gaunt.

After his episode with Healer Wood, Draco had not been brought in for counseling or therapy. He was certain the Healers didn't want to bother with him anymore. Healer Derwent was not deterred though. After a long discussion with the other staff, he decided he would be Draco's therapist.

"Do you want to tell me about what's going on?" the Healer continued.

Draco didn't answer, staring blankly at Healer Derwent instead.

The Healer stared back, his own gaze more strong that Draco's. "You're determined to die Mr. Malfoy. Probably the most determined man I have ever seen."

He pulled a file up to his desk and flicked through it. He stopped on a few pages. "But I did not enter this business to have people die when I am in a position to help them. And you, my young friend, are perhaps the most interesting patient I have ever had sit across from my desk."

A crease appeared in Draco's forehead as he saw the paper the Healer stopped on.

"Draco, you will not die in this hospital. I will not allow it."

"What are you going to do?" Draco whispered. "You can't make me want to live."

The Head Healer smiled. "That's right Draco. Only you can do that."

It became a battle of wills between the Healer and his unyielding patient. Twice a week, Draco was summoned to Healer Derwent's office and presented with information. Facts, statistics, reports, and testimonies all stating the same truth that he refused to accept. Memory therapy was the magical solution. Twice a week, Draco would leave the Healer's office the same as before. He would not do it.

The Healer's persistence often led to bursts of anger, and during one session, Draco leapt across the desk to strangle the Healer. Again, he was in solitary confinement for days, magically bound and restrained. Mediwizards would feed him through a tube magically inserted in his stomach, and his lay for hours staring at the ceiling. He was released again, and Healer Derwent continued to meet with him as if nothing had happened. But it was the same each time. He would not do it. He'd rather die.


The one habit he continued to follow was the nightly line up for potions. It was inevitable that during those times he would see Astoria. He avoided looking at her, and just took the vials before returning to his room. Once she almost caught his eye, but he ignored her. He reminded himself that he was sparing her.

"Draco?"

The assistant Healer who was handing out the potions handed him a new vial. "Healer Derwent said that you are to take this one as well."

"What's it do?"

"It's a Nourishing Potion. Healer Derwent noticed you're not eating well, and he said this will compensate. It'll provide you with the nutrients you need."

He took it without a word and stepped to the side as she moved to the next patient. He took his other potions, but poured the Nourishing Potion into a potted plant when the assistant wasn't looking. It was a dirty trick, but he wasn't going to let Healer Derwent win this one. As he turned to go back to his room, he felt a hand on his shoulder and tensed up.

"Don't do this."

He willed himself not turn around. He couldn't look at her directly. "I need to go to my room."

"Draco, please look at me."

He shook his head.

"Draco, if you will just talk to me..."

He walked away before she could finish. "You're sparing her and yourself," his brain reassured him. It didn't make sense though. Nothing really did.


Logan was doing better. The Healers seemed to have the solutions for his illness, and he was sleeping better at night. Very often, Draco would hear the young boy snoring softly in the early hours of the morning. His color was improving, and he smiled more. One evening, he came in with a small piece of parchment clutched in his hands. He sat with it in his bed, staring at it and smiling.

"Look Draco," he said as he waved it towards Draco. "Come look."

Draco had been stretched on his bed, but he decided to humor Logan. It was a drawing of a boy riding a dragon over a lake. He smiled as Logan explained the species of the dragon and pointed out the features that would identify it. Logan would enjoy Care of Magical Creatures one day. In the corner were two letters that Draco couldn't make out.

"Who drew this Logan?" he asked.

"Astoria did."

No one else could have. Without a word, Draco returned to his bed.

"Are you mad at Astoria?" Logan questioned slowly. "Draco?"


He didn't answer as he turned over onto his side, facing away from Logan. He couldn't bear the thought of the boy knowing it wasn't Astoria he was angry with. Logan didn't need to see the self-loathing he felt.

It became harder to walk around. Small movements made him weary, almost sick with exhaustion. Healer Derwent kept sending the Nourishing Potion, but about every other day, Draco found ways to not take it. Sessions with Healer Derwent continued, but Draco still refused to spill his memories into the Pensieve.

His nightmares were becoming progressively worse. He lost the strength to stay awake, and night after night awoke screaming. The Healers had confiscated his wand, and he presumed they weren't going to give it back to him unless he agreed to the Memory therapy. Silencing charms were out of the question. Instead, Logan was given a strong sleeping potion so Draco wouldn't wake him. Draco asked to be moved to a private room again. He didn't want Logan to find his body when it was over. The Healers gently turned the request down, and he decided he might need to relocate most nights to a closet.


Are you scared Baby Draco?

She was standing over him, her dagger dripping crimson drops on the polished floor.

Don't you fail us now Draco. Are you afraid now Draco?

She grinned at him manically as he crawled away from her. Behind him he heard a cold, cruel voice.

Crucio!

He felt thousands of white hot knives pierce every inch of his skin, and he screamed as his body sank into the floor.

You will pay for your mistakes! Crucio!

He jerked and screamed out in terror. His body was bathed in sweat, and his hands were shaking violently. The sleeves of his shirt were shredded, and even in the dark, he could see his Mark. He gulped and breathed in and out, trying to slow his heart rate. He pushed himself from his bed, leaving his blanket and sheets behind in a messy heap. His brain was demanding him to get out, to move.

The ground felt like air beneath his feet as he moved down the corridor. It was late, and there were no signs of life. He passed the common area and came to a closet he liked to hide in, but the door was sealed shut. He yanked on the handle, but the door wasn't budging. He cried out in exasperation and pulled again. A nervous sweat was settling throughout his body again, and he sank to the floor, curled in a ball. With his eyes wide, he took several breaths, in and out. Draco did not dare close his eyes, for he knew what would be waiting for him.

Within minutes, his breathing slowed, and his hand ceased their trembling. He remembered where he was, and that he was alone. His brain seemed to whisper, "You're okay Draco. No one is hurting you. You're okay."

He rose from his curled position and pulled his legs beneath his arms. With his head in his arms, he sighed. The end was in sight, but he wished it was closer. The days were agony.

His father would be ashamed of his appearance. Thin arms and legs, sunken cheeks and ribs that poked out. It was not the regal appearance of a Malfoy. But then again, he hadn't felt like a Malfoy in a long time.

It took all his strength to lift himself up to his feet, but he managed. His brain decided it would just be best to walk for right now, walk until he could no longer do so.

Draco's feet made their own path. He found himself wandering down the hallways, past rooms with closed doors and sleeping patients. The floor was made of a polished marble, and it felt cool against his bare feet. It felt nice to be moving.

He passed a section of offices and a closet he used to disappear in when he heard the sounds. Heavy breathing, rasped murmurs of something, and a sound of choked tears were issuing from the closet. Draco stopped and stared at the door. It was a woman's voice, but he couldn't make out what she was saying or not saying. Two options were presenting themselves, and the curious part of Draco that hadn't died yet wanted to open the door. The other side remembered when he himself hid away to cry, and Potter found him. That had not ended well.

Nonetheless, he found himself reaching for the door.

"Hello?" he whispered, as he turned the handle.

He didn't have time to react. A small figure leaped out at him and smashed him into the floor. He hit the marble hard as a pair of small hands reached towards his face, nails clawing at any inch of skin they could reach. Draco pushed back against his attacker, but this person was stronger than he was. He used to his legs to kick at the assailant, who hissed when he made contact. Long brown hair fell into his face, and he felt a glob of phlegm hit his cheek. He growled angrily and used all his remaining weight to flip himself over, with his attacker underneath him. She fought and kicked and punched, and in their scuffle, he could see the green eyes that he knew too well.

"Astoria," he gasped as she placed a well aimed punched to his stomach. "Astoria, stop."

He thought she had stopped struggling until he felt the sharpness of her teeth as she bit his arm, drawing blood.

"Damn it, Astoria stop!"

She screamed and pushed him off her. In one fluid motion, she rose and slammed him into the ground again. The force knocked the wind out of him, and he felt her fist connect with his nose.

"ASTORIA STOP!" he yelled at her, clutching his nose. "It's Draco, it's just Draco!"

Almost at once, she went limp. She looked down at him, blood issuing forth from his nose, bite marks in his arms, and bruised from where she pushed him.

"What the hell is wrong with you Astoria?"

She inched away from him, closer to the wall, a look of shock on her face.

"It's just me okay? Whoever you thought... It's just me."

She shook her head as she sank to the floor, hands covering her ears.

"I'm not attacking you. Not here to hurt you. I just heard you in the closet, and I..."

Astoria continued to shake her head with a pained expression.

"You have to wake up Astoria," he finished.

Her hands clenched around her hair, and she took her time. Minutes passed before she opened one eye, then the other. Her body was trembling, but she managed to raise her eyes and look him.

"Draco, where are we?" she asked softly.

"We're in St. Mungo's. The new ward in Janus Thickey."

"We're not at Hogwarts?"

He felt the fear in her voice as she asked. "No, we're not at Hogwarts."

She nodded and closed her eyes again. He waited a few minutes before he tried another question.

"What was that Astoria?"

Astoria didn't answer him.

It could have been minutes, hours, or days they sat there. It felt like a lifetime to him.

"Can you make it back to your room?" he asked weakly.

She only nodded again and reached a hand out to him. "I need help."

Reluctantly, he stood and took her hand. It felt warm in his. He hadn't noticed before, but she smelled of sweat, much like he did. They walked down the hallway, her hand clutching his tightly, while he tried to keep distance. It was hurting him to be so close to her, but he couldn't leave her now. Not like this.

"I'm sorry," she said as she touched his nose with one hand gingerly. His blood stained onto her fingers.

"Don't worry about it," he said, as he pinched the tip with his other hand.

When they reached her room, it was empty. Draco had never asked if Astoria had a roommate, but from the looks of it, she was alone at night. The sheets were scattered on the floor in a haphazard way identical to his. He reached down to pick them up and reposition them on the bed. Astoria looked lost as she sat down. She wouldn't let go of his hand.

"Draco?" she asked

"Yeah?"

"Please stay," she whispered. "I can't... I can't be by myself. Please."

Every fiber in his brain was screaming for him to say no. He needed to leave right now. Her eyes met his, and he could see the pleading in them.

If it had been anyone but her, he would have walked away. But it was Astoria.

He motioned at his face. "Do you have something to..."

She leaned down to rip one of her sheets, handing a large piece of it to him.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

He sat on her bed and blotted at his nose with the sheet. It reminded him of when Granger almost broke his nose in third year. When his nose stopped bleeding, he wrapped the sheet around his nose and crawled into her bed next to her. It was small, but their thin bodies managed to fit just fine. Initially, he tried to keep as much distance as possible between them, but Astoria inched closer to him, burying her face into his chest.

"Thank you."

He felt the warm tears from her eyes soak into his shirt, but he couldn't move. She cried silently, and he moved his hand to rest on her back. He was glad she couldn't see him or the tears that dripped from his eyes.

It was only hours that he woke up again from a new nightmare, and Astoria held him as he screamed.


The night of May 31, 1999 was a dark night for Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass. They never discuss the details with anyone other than themselves or their therapists. When the Healers found them the next morning with blood-soaked sheets and shell-shocked eyes, it caused quite a stir. Draco's wounds were mended, but he carried the scar of Astoria's teeth marks for the remainder of his life.