***Trigger warning: Mentioning of Suicide

Chapter 13:

Hermione awoke the next morning to a sharp crash of thunder. She instantly became aware of the warmth of a body next to her and she opened her eyes. Draco was lying alongside her, one arm slung over his eyes and the other stretched between them, as though searching out her hand in his sleep. She could see violet and maroon bruises marring his milky white skin—the skin she'd fantasized about for so long.

His chest was rising and falling steadily and she knew he was still fast asleep. She felt a stabbing ache in her heart at the sight of him, her emotions over his plight so raw in the light of morning. She felt too voyeuristic staring at him when he was in this state. This was different from all those times in the library—this time he was shattered and vulnerable. Hermione lifted the throw blanket she'd given him up and over his chest to give him some modesty and then quietly climbed out of bed.

She realized then that she was dressed skimpily and retrieved her oversized sweater and a pair of lounge pants, pulling the garments over her shorts and top. She walked to her kitchenette countertop and placed a heating charm on a kettle of water. Hermione leaned her palms on the counter and took a few deep breaths.

Anger was still coursing through her as she thought of what Draco was going through. Hadn't she lived in the woods for almost a year, hunting Voldemort's cursed trinkets for months, fought valiantly in the Great Hall alongside the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore's Army, and testified on his behalf—all so there would no longer be a divide?

She could understand the mentality of the other Houses—they had all lost loved ones and needed an outlet. But now, these moronic Slytherins were turning against him. And for what? Because they thought he was a traitor to their cause? How convenient for them all to believe—Voldemort hadn't taken up residence in any of their homes, threatened any of their lives, tortured any of them. None of them sported deep gashes and permanent scars to display their hardships to the world.

It broke her heart that Draco truly believed he deserved everything that was happening to him. He was no longer the arrogant, pompous little prat he'd been in second year. His life over the last few years had sobered him significantly. He believed that everything that the Slytherins were doing to him, all of the insults the other Houses threw at him daily, all of it was retribution. And there wasn't a single concept that was sadder to her in that moment.

Hermione also knew that Draco would not fight back. "Come on, Granger. It's not worth it…I am on probation, I cannot go to Azkaban…" he'd told her. Parkinson's shrill voice rang through her head as she sang, "Let's go Malfoy! Straight to Azkaban!" He was trying so hard to keep his nose clean, to keep his head down and to keep out of trouble. She knew he was right: if he did fight back and cause someone harm, the instigator would twist the story to paint him as the problem. He would be risking a trip to the wizarding prison.

But she was the Golden Girl, the War-heroine, the Princess. She was in no danger of going to Azkaban any time soon. And Theodore Nott, a poor excuse for a best friend, wasn't either. His father was locked away in the prison, but Nott, Jr. had never been implicated in a single Dark event. She gripped the edge of the counter angrily as she thought of the burly, dark-haired wizard. She had a few choice words for him when she saw him next.

"You think I could take you up on that cup of tea?" came a sleep-rasped voice from behind her, causing her to jump slightly.

She turned around and he was leaning against the back of the couch, his arms crossed over his bare chest. "Sure," she told him, retrieving a small jar of honey from the cupboard above her head and a small jar of milk from her cooling chest.

He remained silent as he watched her prepare his tea—a splash of milk and two teaspoons of honey. She stirred it and brought it to him. He reached out and took it gratefully, licking the now scabbed cut across his top lip. "Tell me, Granger. How is it you know exactly how I take my tea?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Shit. How was she going to answer that? She couldn't very well tell him that she watched him, nearly obsessively, from across the Great Hall. He smirked at her and lowered his gaze to the floor. "It's okay. I know you drink coffee in the morning—black on days we have exams, with a little cream and sugar on days we don't."

Hermione could feel herself gaping at him and snapped her jaw closed. He had been watching her as well? When? Wouldn't she have seen him through all of her own staring? He was actively avoiding her stare now and she turned around to prepare herself a cup of tea. "Yes…well…this morning, I'll follow suit and have some tea," she replied, trying to keep her nerves in check.

She put a single spoon of honey into the warm brown liquid and stirred with a cinnamon stick—the same way she drank it each night before bed. When she turned back to him, she sighed. "You'll need to use some glamour charms to cover those bruises."

He nodded solemnly and finished off his drink. "I'd better be going. I've got Alchemy to get to."

He washed his cup and then retrieved his jumper from her room, his blood shining on the black fabric. Draco made his way to her door and stopped with his hand on the knob. He looked over his shoulder and seemed as though he would say something but stopped. "See you later," he muttered and he was gone.

o-o-o

Draco always loved thunderstorms. Since he was young. Not quite in the whimsical, skipping-through-mud-puddles way Granger had described. But in an earthlier sense. There was something hypnotic about the powerful heavens opening up and unleashing a torrent upon the earth, quenching the soil's parched thirst. The sound of the raindrops pitter-pattering against stone, grass and windowpanes. The woodsy, petrichor scent of wet peat moss and soil. He would lie in bed as a child, all of the lights in his room extinguished and watch the shadows dance and play across his walls as lightning flashed.

He had no desire to be in his room this afternoon—it was becoming increasingly stuffier the less time he was able to wander the castle and the more he had to spend in his dorm. Alchemy had gone off without a hitch—he was the only Slytherin. But when Charms with the Ravenclaws had rolled around, he decided he would rather avoid it altogether.

He felt cowardly—he'd never backed away from a duel in his life and suddenly he was unable to participate. His former friends were trying to rile him up, get him to slip up so he could be carted away to Azkaban with his father. The fact that the Dark Lord had fallen and half of the Slytherins' fathers were incarcerated meant nothing to them. All they cared about was the fact that he had, at one time, been their ruthless leader, learning and dabbling in the Dark Arts to further the Pure-blood agenda. Then, at the end, he suddenly wasn't. The Muggle-born Slytherins were too afraid to speak out. None of the lot, save Theo knew what he'd been through. The Greengrass sisters accepted Theo's word when he'd told them that Draco had never really been Dark, only played a part. But the rest wanted retribution. And they were going to take it any way they could.

Draco sat in the open air of the Astronomy Tower, his feet dangling down from his perch on the wall. He'd charmed himself to stay dry, though he wanted nothing more than to feel the rain on his skin, washing away his impurities, his sins, his past life. He looked toward the skies—swirling, tumultuous clouds dark as night battled for dominance, each one more ominous than the last. There wasn't a break in sight as he searched for a single ray of Light to be shed upon him, to brighten the ever-present darkness around him ever so slightly.

The feelings he'd felt for years came back to him. Sometimes, the urge built up gradually, little by little with each passing snide comment or ill wish. And other times, he would wake up with an urge so strong he had to grip his bathroom sink to keep himself upright. The Darkness seeped in, little by little, like the noxious gas he'd once read of Muggles using in warfare. It choked the life out of him and brought him to his knees more often than not.

And how simple it would be, now with the Dark Lord gone and his mother's life in no danger? He could easily, with a strong push from the seated position he was in, end all of his pain and misery. Those around him would rejoice, the Slytherins would probably throw a celebration. His mother would be rid of the scandal of having an ex-Death Eater for a son—she'd never wanted that life for her only son and he hadn't listened when she'd told him so.

And the Darkness. The Darkness would finally overtake him, wholly and completely. In a matter of seconds, he would slip into the sweet, black abyss. No more sorrows. No more worries. No more insults. No more beatings. He pulled back his sleeve to survey the bane of his existence. The Mark was rapidly fading with the Dark Lord's true demise; now a shade of pink. It looked significantly less ominous without the onyx ink running through it.

Draco's mind wandered to Granger in that moment. Her bright, vibrant mane of golden-brown locks, her large innocent eyes of mahogany, her melodic laugh when she was being carefree and silly. He smiled at the thought, remembering how she'd spun and giggled with unabashed glee when they'd danced. He cared for her deeply, his fondness for her coming to him more quickly than he ever could have imagined.

But Granger was good. She had an old soul that was pure as the driven snow. Purer than the blood coursing through his veins—the one idiotic thing that had separated them for so long. She was kind, fierce, feisty and optimistic. She was the Light in his never-ending, loathsome Darkness.

That thought scared him almost as much as it intrigued him. Granger deserved so much better than the life she would have if they continued their friendship or delved into something deeper. The reporters would tear her apart, Golden limb from Golden limb. She would never be able to sit down for a nice meal in public with him, she would never be accepted as long as he was in tow. Her own friends had their hesitations. He would withdraw into himself and she would never be able to break through his walls once his defenses were up. It would be a lifetime of shame, anger and hurt, a circular, vicious cycle, with each cycle worse than the last.

But, blast it all, he was selfish—he'd already admitted that. All he wanted was to be in her presence, her gentle magic soothing his frayed nerves, her tinkling laugh reverberating in his head. Perhaps he should take what he could get, keep her for as long as she'd have him.

Fuck. He was going to stop fighting it. He knew it then, as the thought of her endearing little, heart-shaped face and pretty smile invaded his thoughts. As long as he was still too cowardly to end things on his terms, he was going to stop pushing her away. Friendship or relationship, he didn't care. He was going to let her in until she saw reason and regained her sanity. Only then, would he be able to jump.

o-o-o

"Can I see you for a moment, Nott?" Hermione more or less demanded at lunchtime.

The brawny wizard tore his gaze away from Daphne Greengrass and raised an impatient eyebrow at the brunette witch. "Can I help you with something?"

"In the corridor, now," she told him, gesturing to the doors.

Theo rose and excused himself from the table, his lunch untouched as he followed Hermione out into the hallway. She led him around a corner and then turned on him. Seeing Theo, so happy-go-lucky and laughing with his bimbo girlfriend made her want to scream. His friend was suffering immensely, while this prick still had the ability to carry on with his life. "Aren't you supposed to be his friend?"

Theo crossed his arms and glared down at her over his nose. "And what the fuck is that supposed to mean, Granger?"

"Well, he always says you're his brother. Yet, the moment he needs someone, you start chasing after a witch and ignoring him completely. What kind of friend does that?" she demanded.

"Don't you talk to me about friendship. You have no idea what you even speak of! Tell me, Hermione, when was the last time you heard from Weasley? Was it when he made a huge scene and embarrassed both you and Draco in the Three Broomsticks?" he asked her icily.

"We are not talking about my friends!" she nearly screamed, shoving him harshly in his chest.

He barely flinched at her assault. "Aren't we though? Do you realize that I have been trying to get through to Draco since the second of May? He has erected a barrier around himself and he does not want my help. He wants no one around him but you. I have told him I would kill anyone he told me to—I have no qualms about going to Azkaban for him. But he has called me off, won't let me seek vengeance."

"And you just listen to him?"

"If you haven't ever been properly introduced to him, Draco Malfoy is a force to be reckoned with. If he says do not go after our Housemates, I will not go after our Housemates. Not to mention, it's called respect, Granger."

Hermione huffed. "Well, you need to start thinking about ignoring his requests. Because, so help me God, if you do not handle your House, I will turn every one of you into the slippery little snakes that you are, tie you all together and toss you into the Black Lake for the Giant Squid to feast on!" she seethed.

"What are you going on about?" he asked her, narrowing his eyes once more.

"Do you have any idea where Draco was last night?" her voice was cutting but Theo refused to flinch or back down.

"I would assume in his dorm—he hardly ever leaves there," the Slytherin said with a shrug.

"Wrong. Five people from your House cornered him and beat the piss out of him! He came to my room, weeping!" she told him, giving him another frustrated shove.

Theo furrowed his brow and looked at her for any sign of deception. "Who?"

"He wouldn't tell me. He didn't even let on that they were Slytherins—his face gave that away."

"Well…I'll pick them off, one by one. You rest that pretty little head of yours, Granger," Theo told her, his tone dripping with condescension.

"And what am I supposed to do? Sit idly by?" she asked, crossing her arms now.

"Be the friend he deserves," Theo told her. "He needs someone strong who will fight for him. Mentally. I'll handle the physical part—it's time to trim the fat from Slytherin House."

"You'd better handle this, Nott. Or I'll handle you first," she told him, jabbing a finger in his chest.

"Where is he now?" Theo asked. "He wasn't in Charms class."

"What do you mean, wasn't in Charms class?" she demanded, reaching into her schoolbag to retrieve the Marauder's Map.

She looked over the Map, her eyes wandering every inch quickly. She finally spotted his dot and the scroll depicting his name at the top of the Astronomy Tower. I was in a very Dark place, and I wanted nothing more than to end my own life. I stood at the top of the Astronomy Tower once…and got right to the edge…everyone wishes for Death to come to me, including myself.

"He's in the Astronomy Tower!" she choked.

Theo furrowed his brow. "Why would he be there? I thought they closed it off after Dumbledore died?"

Hermione took off in the direction of the Tower, ignoring Theo's calls after her. He didn't know. That was one of Draco's secrets that no one else in the world knew but her. There was only tunnel vision as she made her way through sparsely populated corridors and up the long, winding staircase up to the Tower. She threw open the hatch door and climbed onto the platform where she'd once watched the stars with Harry and Ron, but where Draco had once watched a man brutally murdered because of his hesitance.

He was sitting in the wide-open window overlooking the Quidditch Pitch. When he heard the door close softly behind her, he glanced over his shoulder. "How did you find me?"

"Why are you hiding?" she countered.

He turned back to face the grounds. "I asked you first."

The scene was making Hermione extremely uncomfortable. Her heart was racing at his positioning. He was right on the edge of the Tower, and her fear of heights coupled with his confession ringing through her mind was setting her off. She moved closer to him and he sighed before he turned around. He remained seated in the window, his back to the grounds. She stepped in between his knees. He wasn't crying, and for that she was grateful. She ran her fingertips tenderly over his face, the light stubble that grew with his inability to shave over painful bruises. He closed his eyes and leaned his face into her touch and put his hand over hers. After a brief moment, he pulled her hand away and gave her a weak smile. "Come on, Granger. We've got a free period now and some Arithmancy charts that need completing."

Draco hopped off of the stone wall, a strangely serene look on his face. He held her hand firmly and bent to retrieve his schoolbag before leading her to the spiral stairs down to the castle. They were silent as he led her down the stairs, their clasped hands behind his back as he descended. He led her down four flights of stairs, past various students. All the while, never dropping her hand. Hermione could hear the whispers, see the students eyeing them.

Draco kept his face looking straight, his eyes cold and almost daring someone to say something aloud. For her part, Hermione knew her face was burning scarlet. Not with shame or embarrassment. No. She was on fire because the icy man was declaring them a pair, a companionship between them. Though the others would talk and whisper of the sordid love affair between the Golden Girl and the Death Eater, she knew it was more. Draco was choosing to trust her, to stick with her and allow her to do the same. He was letting her know that he accepted her friendship and was going to try his best at reciprocating. They were not a couple yet, but he didn't care if others thought they were. He was trying his best and she couldn't ask for anything more.

The thought was enough to make Hermione's heart sing and her magic crackle between their palms. He smirked down at her when he felt the little spark and then retrained his eyes straight ahead.

o-o-o

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