A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I'm glad it wasn't too obvious what I was about to do. So, in this chapter, Draco and Hermione meet again. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do ;)

I included this particular quote since I thought this could be something that was going round in Draco's head.

Wake me up inside/ call my name and save me from the dark,
bid my blood to run /before I come undone, save me,
save me from the nothing I've become.

Bring me to life by Evanescence

34. Trainwreck

Since Draco hadn't answered her letter, Hermione apparated to his flat on the next evening. Blaise opened the door, and his expression changed from confusion to sadness to relief. "Hermione," he whispered. "You've heard."

She nodded. "Can I come in? How is Dr-Draco?"

Blaise cast a quick glance over his shoulder. He seemed tense, worried. "I don't know. He doesn't talk, or eat, or do anything really. He just stares out of the window." He opened the door fully, letting Hermione enter. "I don't know why you came, but I think you might be the only one to get through to him."

Hermione nodded silently and followed Blaise into the bedroom. Draco's back was turned to the door. His shoulders stiffened a little when they entered, but otherwise he didn't acknowledge them. He just stood at the window, watching the rain in silence. A feeling of darkness, of grief, radiated of him, and Hermione swallowed thickly. He looked miserable, like a lost puppy who was trying with all his might not to be lost anymore, not to fall apart.

"Draco?" Hermione asked gingerly, her voice barely a whisper.

A shiver ran over his body, but he didn't turn.

Worried, she exchanged a look with Blaise, but the dark-skinned wizard only shrugged. "I'll make us some tea," he murmured, retreating to the kitchen.

Now Hermione was all alone with Draco. Cautiously, she approached his tall figure but didn't quite dare to touch him.

"I'm sorr–" she began.

"Don't say it," he interrupted her huskily, his voice raw with emotions.

Hermione nodded, thankful that he at least spoke to her. "I never knew what to say to those words either." She stepped beside him, so they stood side by side, staring out at the rain. Draco was so close that she felt his warmth in the cold room, only a few inches separated them. She desperately longed to take his hand, but she kept herself under control. He didn't want to be touched; he didn't want compassion or pity.

"So what did you do?" he asked suddenly. His voice was so soft she almost couldn't understand him.

She shrugged, her thoughts wandering back to the summer after the Battle of Hogwarts. "I nodded and smiled."

From her periphery, she saw Draco's hands clench into fists. "Then you're stronger than me," he breathed, his voice almost even. She could see that he was trying, trying so hard not to show emotions, to remain detached. But then, his shoulders began to shake slightly, and his whole body shivered with the effort to suppress the sobs that threatened to escape his lips. Hermione just couldn't stop herself: she took his hand, nothing else. She knew he didn't want to be comforted, but he needed the comfort more than he would ever admit to himself.

"Draco. It's okay," she said because he needed to hear it. It was okay to cry. It was okay to grief. It was okay to let go.

He vehemently shook his head, but didn't meet her gaze. His eyes stayed fixated on something outside. "You don't need to lie, Hermione."

A warm feeling flowed into her stomach only because he had said her name. How could something so small feel so good? "I'm not lying. I'm here with you, and we'll get though that. It'll be okay," she repeated, squeezing his hand.

He cast a sidelong glance at her, but said nothing. However, the silence conveyed more than a conversation could. It settled over them like a warm blanket, wrapped them in the security of her words. Although she knew that Draco didn't quite believe her, he wanted the words to be true enough to let them in for the moment, to give him comfort.

A moment later, Blaise returned with the tea, and Hermione pressed a hot cup into Draco's hands. "Drink!" she ordered.

He looked at her again, but she didn't turn and kept staring out of the window. Finally, he lifted the cup and took a sip. To Hermione, it felt like sign of life. Relived, she let out a breath she wasn't aware of holding.

Blaise smiled lopsidedly at her. "I think I'll leave you two to it. I'm in the living if you need me," he said and left again.

Sip by sip, they emptied their cups, and Hermione was painfully aware that he still held her hand.

"Maybe you should sleep a bit," she suggested after a while. She had noticed the dark smudges under his eyes and the lines of exhaustion on his face that betrayed his fatigue.

"No!" he contradicted, suddenly panic-stricken, starting to tremble all over.

"Okay, okay, it's fine. We'll just stay here," she assured him quickly, caressing his hand soothingly.

Slowly, his breathing returned to normal.

They stared out of the window for a long while. Finally, a strangled sound escaped his lips.

"Why?"

"I don't know, Draco," Hermione said gently.

Draco was aware that she probably hadn't understood his question. He couldn't think about his mother anymore. It was too painful. So he focused on the number pain, and that was Hermione.

Why did she come? Why was she still here? Why did she care?

Her hand was small and warm, giving him more comfort than his father ever could. Lucius had summoned him to the Manor, so he could say goodbye to his mother, and Draco had obeyed. They hadn't exchanged one word. The silence that reigned the Manor was very different to the calmness and peaceful quiet between him and Hermione. There it weighed him down as it spoke of wintry stillness – as if the world were frozen –, of loss, and of words left unspoken. His father was simply incapable of showing compassion or love, even if he saw how much Draco suffered. They had nothing to say to each other.

No, Draco wouldn't think about that now.

Instead, his eyes wandered to the beautiful woman next to him. Hermione was everything his father would never be. He could still hardly believe that she was here. She seemed a little slimmer than usual but not as ghostly as she'd been in Diagon Alley. Perhaps she'd moved on. She should have moved on because she didn't love him anymore.

But why was she here, then?

He didn't quite trust his voice when he asked, "Hermione?" Oh, how he enjoyed saying her name.

She turned to look at him, searching his gaze. "Yes, Draco?"

"Don't leave," he begged, and she nodded at once.

"I won't." Her voice sounded sincere.

Of course, she had misunderstood him again. Draco didn't mean now, he meant ever. He wanted to stay here in this moment forever, inside their little bubble where she protected him of the realness of reality, where she still cared for him and held his hand. But suddenly, exhaustion hit him like a blow in the face. Staggering, he tightened his grip around her.

"You should sleep," she repeated and pushed him slowly to the bed.

"No! No, I can't," he said, panicked, fighting desperately against the tiredness. He knew this was a fight he was doomed to lose, but he wouldn't give in so easily.

"Why, Draco?" she asked, pushing him back down when he tried to stand up. "I'll protect you from the nightmares." Quickly, she sat down beside him.

He looked at her, felt her closeness, and something about that coaxed the truth out of him. "But … you'll be gone when I wake up," he admitted tonelessly.

She was quiet for a moment. "No, Draco. I'll stay. I promise. I'll stay right here until you wake up."

His eyes found hers for the first time, and he could read the truth in them. They were so sad and full of compassion and … love? That couldn't be.

Yet, Draco believed her and curled up under the covers. The bed was warm and comfortable and he felt himself drifting away. Without warning, the mattress shifted when she stood up, and he shot upright again.

"No. Please, don't go! Please, just … stay here. Please, I won't … touch you … I just can't be alone," Draco stammered, desperately searching for words, his hand outstretched as if to reach for her.

Hermione sighed, and her features softened. He moved aside to give her some space, patting on the bed, and looked pleadingly at her.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fine."

Draco couldn't help the smile that sneaked onto his lips. Content, he lay back down, enjoying the warmth of her body next to his. Oh, how he had missed her. More than breathing. Very carefully, his fingers wandered over the cool bed sheets, searching for hers, for her warmth and her touch that made everything better. Tentatively, he brushed against the back of her hand, and when she didn't flinch back, he entwined their fingers gently. Then he let his eyelids droop. Within seconds, he was sound asleep.

When Draco woke what seemed days later, Hermione was still there beside him. She had fallen asleep as well, and he realised how exhausted she looked. Probably a hard day at the office.

Draco rubbed his temples and tried to push away the nightmare he'd had.

His head snapped back to Hermione. No! She was here. She was right here, where she wouldn't be if his nightmare … had been a nightmare.

The grief and the pain hit him with the force of a high speed train, and he couldn't stop the sobs that broke out of his chest. Hermione woke at once.

"Draco?"

He couldn't answer, just tried to stop crying, but it was like stopping a volcano from erupting – impossible.

"Oh, Draco," she whispered and pulled him into her. "Just cry. It's okay to cry."

His father would never have uttered these words. But she did, and he loved her for it, however hopeless this love was. He let her comfort him because it could be the last time he touched her and hugged her like this.

She didn't push him away, even though his tears stopped after a while.

"Sorry," he finally whispered, putting some space between them. "I'm crushing you."

Hermione helped him to an upright position and smiled warmly. "Never mind. Do you feel better?"

A frown furrowed his brow and shrugged noncommittally. He didn't know what he felt. Certainly nothing that could be described in words.

She tilted her head. "What do you say if you hop into the shower and I'll make us a quick breakfast?"

He stared at her, his frown deepening.

Hermione chuckled and stood up. "Come on, Draco. Out of bed. Get a move on." With that, she was out of the room.

Groaning, he rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom. He would take that bloody shower if it meant she would stay a little longer. The warm water cleared his thoughts, but that popped up even more questions. Questions about Hermione.

His mother would know what to make of it.

The pain this thought caused slapped him right in the face, and he had to struggle for breath. But somehow he managed to get out of the shower and dress without crying or letting himself be ripped apart by the pain.

The familiar smell of her cooking evoked a different kind of pain, and his chest felt unnaturally tight.

"You look better," she said lightly when he sat down at the kitchen table.

Quickly, he averted his gaze. "Where's Blaise?"

"He left while you slept." She put the food in front of him and ordered, "Eat!"

Draco bit back a snarky comment and took his fork. "Can I ask you something?"Without waiting for a response, he added, "Did you know?"

Hermione paused. "You mean Nar-?" She stopped in midsentence, seeing him flinch. "No," she added quickly. "Maybe I should've guessed."

"If someone should feel guilty, it's me," he said, bitter. He hadn't wanted to sound like he was blaming her.

"Nonsense," Hermione contradicted harshly, putting his cup of tea down with more force than was strictly necessary. "She didn't tell you deliberately."

Draco ignored that. He wasn't at a point yet where he could forgive himself. Before the guilt could consume him, he fired another question, the most burning one. "Why are you here?" As soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew it had been a mistake.

Shocked, she looked at him, her eyes wide. "Do you want me to leave?" Her voice cracked.

"No!" he said too quickly, too panicked, to appear not caring anymore. "I just – I … you don't owe me anything. Why would you come?"

"Because …" Hermione gritted her teeth. "We are still friends. Friends care for each other."

He dimly recognised the words he had said to her nearly a year ago. "I didn't know we were still friends," he whispered faintly.

Of course, she took it the wrong way and her face fell. "Oh. Of course. Sorry," she said, her voice clipped. "I'll leave as soon –"

"No!" he interrupted her, almost reaching for her hand as if to stop her from standing up. "Please don't. That's not what I meant."

Hermione stared at him, scrutinising him, searching for hidden motives. "Okay," she agreed very cautiously.

Draco knew he shouldn't interpret her words or her actions because she did it out of pity, but he couldn't help it. "Thank you."

Hermione smiled weakly and pointed at the untouched eggs. "Eat!"

Draco didn't know how he managed to survive the days until the funeral, but Blaise and Hermione were a big factor in it. Without them, he would probably be drinking himself to death.

Draco had to stand next to his father during the whole ceremony, but he didn't look at him once. Hermione lingered somewhere in the back because she said she wasn't welcome here. It was true. Vile glances were shot in her direction from some of the high and mighty pureblood family members, and it mortified him. But there was nothing he could do.

Little by little, the guests left, but Draco just stood there, rooted to the spot, and stared at the gravestone. This couldn't be. His real mother was back home, baking Peanut Butter Cookies or looking for a new wallpaper. This simply couldn't be.

He was startled out of his thoughts by loud voices. Spinning around, he recognised his father, who seemed to be seething with anger. Next to him were Blaise and Daphne, standing protectively in front of a pale figure. Hermione. They seemed to be arguing.

Draco was just about to walk over to them when a voice interrupted him. "Draco?"

He turned and looked right into the indigo blue eyes of Astoria Greengrass.

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