A.N: Here's another chapter, lots quicker than usual. Please, please, please, READ AND REVIEW. I have been absolutely loving the positive feedback and it really inspires me to write more, so thank you so much. Happy Reading
Draco sat beside the hospital bed as he had for the past four days. Hermione had still not awoken. Idly, Draco stared at the unruffled, perfectly smooth, white sheets covering the bed and he wondered if he had officially lost his mind. He had sat beside an empty bed for the past four days and listened to whispers and soft cries through the curtain that separated this bed from the one in which Hermione lay. He knew that he was not welcome at her side; not welcomed by the people that had ignored and tormented his girl all year. Her so-called 'friends' only came to her when they realised that they could lose her forever. He, who had watched her fade and wither away month after month, was forgotten. Or perhaps, no one knew that he ought to be remembered.
So things remained the same and Madame Pomfrey indulged him by allowing to sit by an empty bed day after day. Pansy and Blaise had come to visit him, but he was almost as unresponsive as Hermione. They said nothing, bringing him food at meal times, but for the most, they let him be. The days dragged on, but night approached quickly. Madame Pomfrey ushered everyone out of the hospital wing, everyone except Draco. She realised that making him leave was useless; he simply snuck back in later on.
Because after the annoying little Gryffindors had left, and Pomfrey had administered the nightly dose of potions, Draco would emerge from behind his curtain. Ignoring the wooden chair at the end of the bed, and the plush armchair to the left, he took his place on the right side of the bed, half laying on top of the fragile girl. There, he would hold her hand, stroke her arm; play with her hair, anything that kept him in constant contact with her. And he would tell her stories about the antics he had gotten up to as a child, fascinating tid bits of the wizarding history that his ancestors had lived, myths, legends and fairytales.
The pale, blonde haired boy would almost glow in the moonlight, looking almost like an angel, and as he told tale after tale, he silently prayed to whatever god that would listen for Hermione to wake up. Draco would not sleep at night, refusing to relinquish even a moment of his precious little time with the bushy haired know it all. He slept during the morning, refusing to go to classes, dreaming of the girl who had so surprisingly crawled under his skin. And he did it from behind his curtain.
On the fifth day, Draco received a visit that was not from either Pansy or Blaise. The visit was from Potter, and it was Draco's first variation in human interaction since the day he found Hermione.
"Why do you sit here behind this damned curtain every day? Why hide? Why not just sit beside her rather than beside an empty bed?" Potter interrogated. Draco shrugged and silence fell.
"You care for her don't you?" Potter demanded, albeit his tone was far gentler this time. Again, Draco only shrugged in response. Frustrated, the Gryffindor Golden Boy lost his temper. "Do you care about her or don't you? Hermione doesn't need someone messing with her at the moment!"
"Shut your mouth, Potter!" Draco stood and raised himself up to his full height, several inches taller than Potter. "Do not question me or what I do! Besides, how would you know what she needs? Where have you been the past few months? You didn't care then; you left her on her own! So screw you, Potter, I'll do whatever I want!"
Harry Potter was stunned into silence and left as Draco returned to his seat. The Slytherin hated openly losing his temper, it went against his nature, but the annoying, self-righteous prat brought out the absolute worst in him.
As the sun was setting that afternoon, Draco decided that enough was enough, and he sought out Madame Pomfrey, who was currently in her office. Without pausing to knock, he sauntered in and took a seat directly across from Pomfrey separated from her by the desk.
"What can I do for you, Mister Malfoy?"
"What's wrong with her? How bad is it? What will happen to her?" Draco gushed all at once.
"What has she told you?"
"Nothing, though I've made a few guesses."
"Miss Granger is experiencing the terrible long term effects of the Cruciatus Curse and her body is failing her."
"She can't die," Draco almost pleaded.
"I am sorry, Mister Malfoy, but most people who were tortured as badly as she was do not survive the lasting effects."
"There must be something you can do, some sort of treatment, anything!"
"That's precisely the problem, Mister Malfoy. Although some of the effects, such as the shaking, would be permanent most of the physical problems can be healed. You must understand, the Cruciatus Curse is the absolute worst form of torture, and the purpose of any form of torture is to break the victim. Miss Granger has been broken, not just physically, but mentally; she has simply lost the will to live."
"I don't understand," Draco admitted.
"How can I explain?" Madame Pomfrey paused to think for a moment. "When a muggle loses all hope, when they lose their will to live, it does not affect their body; physically they are healthy though their mind is not, and they will continue to live as they always have done. It is different for magical folk. Wizards and witches commit suicide, not because they have completely lost their will to live, but because their desire to die is stronger. People of magical blood, muggleborn, pureblood, or somewhere in between, live to be far older than muggles because of their magic. It is our magic that we live off, Mister Malfoy. Miss Granger has been tortured to the extent where she feels she no longer has a reason to live. Her magic is dying and her body is shutting down."
Hours passed, though Draco was not aware of it. He thought about Pansy's mother. He had know she died due to the long term effects of the Cruciatus, but he had never really understood it, neither had Pansy or Blaise, but he did now. And it horrified him and terrified him that Hermione may reach the same fate. He refused to let that happen.
Once again, when everyone had left and Pomfrey had finished, Draco crept out from behind his curtain. This time, however, instead of sitting on the bed, he crawled in beside Hermione's tiny frame, gathering her into his arms. As was now usual, Draco began his story; this time it was one his mother used to tell him when he was a little boy. Tonight, though, he did not get more than half way through before stopping.
After his conversation with Pomfrey that afternoon, everything had changed for Draco. Was he in love with Hermione? No, but he did care about her, a lot. And he was in very real danger of losing her. Hermione was self-destructing, it was obvious, but how do you stop someone from practically imploding?
Draco pulled Hermione closer, carefully because it was not at all difficult to feel her ribs and hip bones protruding somewhat frightfully. She desperately needed to gain some weight. Giving a resigned sigh, Draco knew that he would have to do the one thing that he really did not want to do; have a conversation with the Boy Wonder. There was no doubt that Potter was Hermione's best friend, and he need to be there for her if there was any hope of saving her.
"Come back to me, Hermione," Draco whispered. "Please, I wish I knew what you need."
Draco remained silent after this, not returning to his story telling. Wide awake, he held her in his arms the entire night. She was small, fragile, broken; a princess thrown from her throne, his princess.
Inevitably, dawn came and as the first few rays of sunlight crept through the window, Draco gently lay Hermione back on the bed and reluctantly returned to his post on the other side of the curtain. There, he dared close his eyes to gain some much needed rest, though it was nowhere near enough.
Some time around mid-morning, he woke and not long after received a visit from Pansy and Blaise. Although he had known the two for so long, they never ceased to surprise him. They did not question his vigil in the Hospital Wing, nor did they judge or patronise him. Inexplicably, they seemed to understand what he could not. However, Draco needed to be alone and they stayed no longer than a half hour.
Later in the afternoon, the blonde boy was surprised to find that Potter had visited alone the Weasels were nowhere to be seen. Unwilling as he was, Draco knew that this was, most likely, the best opportunity to approach the other boy, and so, for the first time during the daylight hours, he opened the curtain. Potter looked at him in obvious shock.
"Malfoy," Potter acknowledged.
"We need to talk," Draco sneered, hating how he felt that he had to do this. "About Hermione; what do you know?"
"Everything; I, uh, talked to her healers at St. Mungo's."
"And they told you everything?"
"I may have pulled a few strings. I am 'The Boy Who Lived', after all." Draco was secretly impressed by these Slytherin-esque tactics.
"As much as I loathe saying this, Potter, she needs you. You can't keep blowing her off like you have all year. And you need to tell the Weaselette to back off." Surprisingly, Potter nodded.
"Believe me, I don't want to say this either, but I think she nee think we're going to actually have to tolerate each other to get her through this." This time, it was Draco's turn to nod. She needed the both of them, so they couldn't be constantly fighting. He made no promises for how he would act around the Weasel, though.
The boys did not shake hands or anything formal like that, they had spoken as much as they ever would on the topic and the rest was just silent agreement. It was time to grow up, even if it was just for Hermione's sake.
Draco disappeared back behind his curtain and it wasn't long before Potter was joined by the Weasel and the Weaselette. Hushed whispers drifted through the barrier between them but Draco was unable to discern what was being said and he quickly gave up trying. Honestly, he didn't really care what they had to say, but it did break up his fairly monotonous day.
Night came, slowly but dependably, and Draco made his way to Hermione, taking her up into his arms once again. This time, he told her the only muggle fairytale he knew. It was one that, although favoured by girls, he had always loved for some reason; The Little Mermaid. It was a story about a mermaid, but a princess, who dreamed of the world, of more than what she had. She gave up her family and everything she knew and loved for the unknown. She loved and she suffered greatly. This incredibly young girl loses absolutely everything, including her life, but because she was good and true she gains something else entirely, and the pain was worth it.
But Draco's favourite thing was that despite how terribly she suffered, she hid the pain, she had no choice.
"A mermaid has no tears and so she suffers even more."
Draco knew why he had chosen this particular story, but he hoped that his princess would have a different fate. He held her tighter, as if he could physically hold her together. He thought he felt her grasp at him as well, but realised that that was crazy. He was just tired and desperate.
"I wish you could just tell me what you need, Princess. I'd do anything, get anything for you?" he whispered.
"You, just you." Draco gasped and looked down to find her big, brown eyes looking up at him and glistening with tears. "Can you just, hold me? Please?" Draco nodded and held her tighter still.