At first he thought it was nothing but a dream – created by his hazy head and foolish hopes. She, Hermione Granger telling him she loves him? It seemed very next to impossible. He was undecided in the matter and after she left him alone in the hospital wing, Draco spent his time emptily blinking up at the plain ceiling in wonder if it really had happened.
That day, he had a lot running around in his head. He thought about his mother's desperateness as she cried rivers beside his bed, wetting the sheets as she cradled her son and muttered the same prayers he heard when she carved his back open. He thought about the next to hysterical Pansy who threw a lexicon at him, nearly knocking him out once more as she screamed out to the world how big of idiot he was. Then, there was Theo and Blaise – they simply said Pansy was right and gave him a vintage bottle of whiskey. Goyle just sneaked in when he thought he was sleeping and put excessive amount of food – probably stolen from the breakfast table – on his bedside table. Then, nearly all of Slytherin rolled around, silly little girls wishing him fast recovery, boys who thought he should be up soon or else, they would throw him off his throne – not that Draco was concerned about that, it was now meaningless.
Everything seemed meaningless now as he watched the days roll by much like an outsider, absently scribbling something on a parchment and counting the days. It was the eight of January.
Which meant they had five days for preparations.
He grimaced and scribbled some more about Draught of Living Death. It was not an easy potion for an average student, but Draco had learned more about the wizarding chemistry than he did with any other subjects all together. He brewed Vindico Parea, figured out with Snape's help the developed Essence of Spurius' recipe and was in the process of making several other poisons and their cures. Some were easy, some were especially hard… and then, there were his own creations.
They had five days – and they had no time for such silly things as homework.
He threw the luxurious hawk quill down and swiftly got off of the chair. He winced when his arm pulsated with pain – the angry blemishes and scars screamed at him warningly every time he took a too sudden of movement.
It didn't take more than three mere minutes to reach her favourite hiding place: the bathroom that used to be stuffed with boiling potions and plants, now, it was just chaos, he had wrecked. The glass shards glinted up him mockingly in the neighbourhood of knocked over cauldrons and slumped flowers as he stepped into the place, finding her crouched on the ruined sofa. The mess didn't seem to bother her as she looked calm from the outside, evenly breathing and entirely focused on the book. However, Draco noticed the tiny signs that told him different.
She tapped her fingers to the book in every second, rhythmically, her hands slightly trembled as she squeezed the book and she didn't turn the page for three minutes. It was certain she wasn't occupied by the dry historical text, but by some other thing.
Draco was afraid to interrupt her as she looked beautiful bubbled up in her own world, covered by colourful mist and the bright winter sun that still tried, but didn't succeed in warming up the stone castle. She looked like a porcelain doll, without emotions and entirely rigid, as if she had been set in that position, left there, untouched and distant, the victim of an abandoned toy chest.
"Draco," she muttered and he found himself staring in those disturbed, crazy brow eyes of hers. The poor shape of the bathroom just made it more real – her insanity was not just a ploy, Draco was sure.
Just before speaking up, she moistened her dried lips with a subtle lick of her tongue, something Draco couldn't not notice and follow with his own hungry eyes, "I want to taste your smile before I die. Can I?"
She blinked slowly, no emotion showing on her face as those words rolled of her tongue. It was a terrifying sight, her, losing herself to the threat that had been looming over their heads for months now, and when it was time – when they had a breakthrough with Vindico Parea, they still didn't know which of the two version should suffice and not turn to an additional poison in her system. The weight of all this seemed to crack up her brain and tormented her from the inside to the point of wanting to give up. For Merlin, that was just simply cruel!
The smile, he didn't even know was on his face, melted down immediately.
"You shouldn't say things like this," he sighed and ran his right hand through his blonde locks. "You remember, right? We don't have time for that." And still, all she did was cutely tilting her head to the side, not following his logic. It was clear his body was screaming for hers, and he kept telling her they shouldn't take that step just now – that they wouldn't have time for that. But really…. what else would they have time for? Just things she now didn't want to do. She didn't want to waste time on useless things – like preparations.
She would just down one of the potions and wait it out. The only real question was if she was able to decide on the right one.
Even unconsciously, she turned her head toward the sinks where the two versions of Vindico Parea stood, bottled up and ready for use. The blue was on the right, the maroon was on the left. Her eyes kept jumping between the two, debating it over and over again.
"Have you decided?" he asked casually as if they were talking about the weather when he noticed her lingering stare. She accepted this easy play of pretending, it was better than asking things from him that he wouldn't do. He was willing to lose the chance of her love, after all.
She shrugged nonchalantly, trying hard to tamper down the bite in her voice, "Maroon, maybe."
"Why?" He seemed surprised and even his deep, hoarse voice signed that. He snapped his head towards her so quickly that his joints cracked. "And maybe?"
Hermione couldn't stop the coy smile that settled on her lips, " Because it's like dried blood and death and blue is like a deep lake to drown yourself in – something horribly slow. And being dead is easier than dying," she said to his utter shock with a sing-song voice. When he opened his mouth to ask or utter any kind of coherent sentence which he still didn't believe he was able to, she quickly added, "It's from your mom's speech, not my words. And beside that, maybe it's more like me, a bloody Gryffindor."
Draco shifted awkwardly as her simple, twisted words echoed in his head, his eyes automatically finding the tattoo under her left eye as he debated it over. He admired the way it shined in the light, each skin pore covered by the ink shined with different colour and he longed to touch it, just to see the flare of the rainbow over his constellation.
He shook his head in denial, "Is it your final decision?"
Hermione primped her lips comically, as she looked up the ceiling, cracked and dirtied by the magic blast Draco had released, "I have no idea. Do you, though?"
To that, the blonde audibly sighed and for once, didn't hold back the words that he would normally leave unsaid, "You know, if you want to choose the blue, than go for it. I can take care of the rest," he promised and continued immediately when seeing her mouth open to protest, "I'd be able to hold you up. Above water, what I mean," he added awkwardly, not even knowing what he was rambling about.
Hermione's breath hitched to that, her eyes widened like a deer's in headlight and gulped, "Even if you yourself would sink?" she shot and waited with trembling limbs.
It might have been only one word, but for Draco, that was the hardest to say out loud, "Yes."
"Can we be children for the last time?" her voice was raspy and barely audible in the winter night as she inspected the journey they were headed for in the cold.
"Sure," he muttered back, both entranced by the their showing breaths as those billowed up to the night sky, clear and full of shiny stars. He smiled a wry smile, "But for that, we need to hurl some hexes at first. We hated each other, back then."
She sagged at that, "That wouldn't be fair," came the sharp, bitter answer. "Be matures instead," she tried to compromise instead and pulled the borrowed, furred cloak over her head. It was nice when the soft hairs stroked her skin and Hermione exhaled contentedly.
Draco scowled at that, "It does not fit with sneaking out after curfew."
"The term of curfew shouldn't be in your dictionary if you are an adult, until you have children," she said flippantly and grasping on his hand, she pulled him forward. He understood the cue and started making them a path, swiping the thick layer of snow out of their way with the help of magic. Even though Draco was occupied with firing spells, he never let her out of his sight, watching the healthy redness on her cheekbones and excited gleams in her eyes.
For the first time, after so many weeks she was lost, she seemed normal again.
"I'd rather we would be ourselves," he said and Hermione tilted her head to the side in interest, "Ourselves, but allied." At that, she nodded approvingly.
Because they were together, because he was there to keep her above water.
It was now obvious that the things changed. They forged from enemies to allies to friends and then, to something more. So much more. It started with cruelty, mockery and biting arguments, sharp and witty that were engaging yes, but destroying too. Then, there were those shaky laughs, fragile touches and shallow breaths. Not to mention the loud sobs, the alcohol, the nightmares and so many mistakes they both had committed.
Then, it was about more than simple things: bonding, attachment, growing feelings that they both hid behind bars and walls and then it was attraction against strong and unwavering wills, but they needed to give up the moment their hearts beat together.
That was the moment when they understood: they fell in love with each other.
It happened gradually, somehow, they just remembered two phases of their relationship: when they hated each other and when they loved each other. There was so much more to that, but that was all they could remember.
It was about feelings, so strong, deep, dark and sometimes light, shallow and easy, but at least they were never in war. Not their feelings.
That was how their bargained had started and ended in something long-lasting that lasted for more than a few months. Deep down, they both know it would last for a life time.
So he tightened his gripped over her hand and with looking straight into her eyes asked, "When do you want to do it?"
Hermione bit down on her lower lip, slowly contemplating the chances she had and the right answer she didn't know of, "Tonight. I want to do it tonight."
He nodded seriously, "Then come with me."
So she did without a second thought, trusting him unconditionally.
With you and me, against death. Because they didn't have any more time.
She squeezed his hand back.
"So what will happen to me?" she questioned as her fingers ran over Selene's thick fur. The unicorn sighed at her touch and it instantly calmed her too.
It was only the matter of minutes when she took the potion.
Draco gulped, "The Antarctic Ice Dragon's crushed scales will stop your circulation, freezing the colloids," he started, and Hermione nodded, she had already figured that one out. "The asphodel will put you in a coma of three to five days, and the dittany…" He ran his hand through his whitewashed hair, trying to fight his unwillingness. He just wanted to end her suffering, just already be done with it – with her being healthy and lively again, her usual, spit-fire self! Although the words still seemed to drag on his throat, "The dittany is for the injury where the poisonous ball would come out of your body, and it could come out at anywhere!" he cautioned not that they had any control over it. "The ball will be stuck together by the crushed amethyst crystals… and Selene's blood," to that, the unicorn perked up, measuring him up with her head in Hermione's lap, "will save you, simply put it – it will stop the bleeding."
Hermione nodded, "Now I'm scared," she muttered and looked down at the bottle next to her tight. She wanted to take it beside Selene, she selfishly wanted her comfort.
"I know, I'd be too," Draco muttered and turned away as she lifted up the phial of Vindico Parea to her mouth. Selene never moved an inch as she watched Hermione take gulps, small and slowly, the taste of the potion ashy and bitter. It didn't feel good on her tongue, but she refrained from assuming it a bad sign.
Yes, there were a lot of medical potions that tasted like shit. This version of Vindico Parea would help her! – she promised herself half-heartedly as doubts and desperation started clawing their ways in her head.
She could feel Selene fight against it – the unicorn showed her vivid picture to deter her from thinking about the worst scenatrios.
The bright colours blurred her eyesight as she panted and forced herself to take in more of the blasted potion. She wanted to live, damn it!
"Hermione!" she could faintly hear Draco cry out and for a passing moment she could see those worried, stormy marbles and she smiled weakly.
"Draco…" she muttered, feeling a precious drop of the potion roll over her lip, down to the snow she was sitting on. It was so dark that it looked black instead of blue.
Her entire body shook while Vindico Parea took its effect on her, she felt her toes go numb – maybe, it was just from the cold, or she hoped –, her head getting heavier and rainbow coloured spots swimming in front of her eyes, she hoped, she hoped even if this was the last moment of her life that it wouldn't take long.
She could die, hell, she would be willing to die, just take away this nauseating feeling. It disturbed her stomach as she needed to bent forward to retch up nothing, but saliva and she felt like her lungs were put under several weights. It was terrible even with the unicorn's comforting presence in her head.
As the world seemed remoter by every second, Hermione tried to hold on to anything, grab on anything to not die. It couldn't end with tragedy, right? She didn't want to be up there, next to the great Merlin only to see future generation remember the war heroine's, Hermione Jean Granger's death as the Tragedy of Draco Malfoy.
He would lose himself – so even for him, he needed to survive.
And with that being the last thought, she lost consciousness.
Cliffy before last chapter! Uhuhu! (And also, I'm sorry it didn't come earlier - it dragged on and on because deep down I didn't want to finish this story. I mean, I'm fond of it. But here I am, typing now the last chapter and I just... Yeas, don't want to let it go. Even if Elsa says otherwise.)