A/N: This chapter is extremely short, but I felt that where I ended it was a good place. It took a little longer to get this one out, sorry about that guys!

Thank you very very very much to potatocrazy4, Tiadorable, Lycoris Brightwater, kitty-kat-vamp, Ceylon, EmoPrincess21, Dazzler56, Hamataroo, Quello Bella, teamswitzerland08, Hartwi1, cmc, and NJ for reviewing! I have 144 reviews! *squee*

And to potatocrazy4: Don't worry, I wouldn't do that :) Nothing against it, but it's just not very realistic, and I want my story to be realistic, at least for the Potter world anyway!

Chapter 15: Hold on to Me

"He's dying, Hermione."

Hermione's body completely froze, her entire system shutting down as she unblinkingly stared at the Boy-Who-Lived for any traces of deceit. He was lying; oh he was trying to see if she truly did care for him, or maybe see if now that she thought he was dying that she would tell him Draco had not changed, because he still did not trust him! It would not get by her, she was not one to be fooled, she was Hermione Granger, smartest witch of her age!

"You're lying." She had meant for the sentence to sound sure and strong, but instead it came out small and clearly terrified. But no, she could not back down now, she would not let this lie affect her!

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I really am. I'm not lying to you. I wouldn't."

Oh, he was playing it good now, but he was a fool and she was brilliant, he could not lie to Hermione Granger and expect to get away with it. She shook her head, and cursed herself for allowing a few tears to fall down her cheeks. "No, you're lying. You're lying!" She finally screeched, flying forward and beating her fists against his chest in fury. "You're lying, he's fine, tell me he's fine! DON'T LIE!"

Somewhere in the back of her head she dimly registered that she had most likely lost her mind, but she no longer cared. Seeing that her fists were doing absolutely no damage to his chest, she reverted tactics and took to trying to swing at his face. He realized her motives and caught her wrists easily, and she struggled, attempting to get away from him, the liar, the deceiver.

The entire world crashed in around her and she could no longer breathe. She collapsed on the floor in a panic and heard sobs echoing from extremely far away; only slightly aware that they were coming from herself. She took to beating her fists against the floor instead, refusing to believe it, refusing to believe the horrible truth. Harry crouched next to her and put his arms around her and heaved her into his lap, pressing her face against his chest. She wrapped his shirt in her fists and wailed into his chest, attempting to pretend that it was not Harry but Draco who she was clinging to.

He had saved her life, took her from the cell, helped her to recall everything she had forgotten, and now as punishment he was being taken from her. He could not go, she needed him, oh how she needed him, more than he probably knew. If he went away she would be lost again, alone, and her nightmares would plague her without his warm presence by her side, without his protection. She had lost everything, her parents, her home, and she had vowed she would allow no one else to be taken from her, but now he was being stolen. He was her protection, her asylum, and without him she would be exposed to the darkness of the world once again. He could not leave her, he would not.

:::

The first thing he saw was Snape. The Potions Master was sitting in a chair right across him, looking solemn at best. Draco had never seen Snape look something even remotely near sad. That's when Draco knew.

The second thing he saw was the thing on his chest. The black star-shaped scar was about the size of a Snitch, maybe a little larger. He ran his hand over it; the texture was rough and wrinkled.

"It will spread across your chest until it reaches your heart." Draco glanced up at Snape, who had spoken without moving an inch. He didn't exactly know how to react to this news. Was he supposed to scream? "This is a Dark Magic I have never encountered. There is no known cure."

So that was it. He was dying. The one thing he had always run from had now found him. He was dying. "How long?" He whispered, trying to sound brave and uncaring.

"One to two months."

He was dying.

Draco felt as if he was falling down a black hole, the darkness suffocating and pressing his chest until he was sure he was going to vomit. One to two months to live. "Will it hurt?" He asked, his voice small and begging for the truth. He sounded like a little child.

"Not until the final stages of the curse set in. But then, yes, it will hurt." The truth of Snape's words felt like a dagger in Draco's chest, and he almost wished the older man had lied to him. He felt small and vulnerable, with no one there to protect him and hold his hand and tell him that it was going to be ok.

He remembered his past fear of having a barren funeral. It was once a childish fear, but now it was in his face and screaming at him, counting down his minutes until death came and took and he was gone. Just gone. He wouldn't even know who came to his funeral, so why did it matter? He would be dead.

He was dying.

For some reason, he did not want Snape to see his tears. So, he swallowed the enormous lump in his throat and tried to feel brave. He tried to tell himself it would not be so bad. He had died doing something right, which was far more than he could've said in his past. Perhaps he had not always feared death itself, but feared dying without having done anything worth being proud of in the world. Maybe he feared dying for nothing.

He knew Hermione was in the room before he saw her. He could feel her sadness, feel the despair rolling off of her in waves, and he looked up to meet her eyes. Her face was red and puffy, and she was wringing her hands in front of her nervously, a trait he had never seen in her before. He tried to smile but knew that he did not achieve his desired affect when she just sniffed louder.

The room was quiet as she stepped toward him. He sat up, his legs hanging off of the table as he watched her advance on him. She reached her hand out and slowly began to trace the edge of the blackened scar on his chest, her eyes clouded. He wished he could see into her mind. Was she afraid? Did she blame herself? Did she even care?

And then she looked up into his eyes, her face set in a determined glare. The sadness that was once present was gone. "I will find the cure to this. I will. You saved my life, and I swear to everything and anything that I will save yours. I swear."

Draco tore his eyes from her hands and looked up into her brown orbs of fortitude. She smiled, one of her tears leaking out of her large eyes, and the corners of his lips lifted slightly. He reached forward and wrapped his hands around hers, stopping their movement. "Come on," she whispered, squeezing his hands slightly, "you should come up and rest."

He obediently followed her, stepping off of the table and finding himself surprised that there was no sharp pain in his chest. Snape must have been right. It would set in in the later stages.

Hermione led him all the way to their room without once looking back to see his face. He partially felt she was trying to hide her own from him; to hide the doubt and fear. She finally faced him when they reached their room, sitting down on the bed and patting the spot next to her with a pained smile. He climbed into the bed and tried his best to ignore the tears steadily falling down her face. He was not sure if he should be incredibly happy that she felt so strongly about his impending death or horribly depressed.

He broke down. He could no longer contain the suppressed emotion roaring inside of him, he could no longer contain the sobs that were so desperate to tear from his throat, and he found that in the company of Hermione he did not care if she saw his tears. He was dying. He now was truly and irreversibly dying, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Hermione's promise of a cure did nothing to help; Snape had told him that there was none.

He expected to receive comfort from Hermione, but instead the same wracking sobs coming from his own chest began to escape her throat, and she threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her face against his chest. He lifted her body into his lap and allowed her to cry out his own fears into his chest, wiping away his own tears as he gently rocked her back and forth in his lap. "I'm sorry, I-I'm so sorry." Hermione choked out. "I should've been there, I should've been there to help."

"Shh," Draco whispered, closing his eyes so he would not see her cry. He found the task of holding in his own sobs so much harder when she was crying against him.

"What made you change?" Hermione whispered against his chest, glancing up to look him in the eyes, as if suddenly this answer was all she wanted. He locked eyes with her for a moment in surprise, and he felt suddenly compelled to tell her the deep dark secret he had locked inside of himself and not told anyone. Perhaps it was the fact that he was dying and would some day have no one to tell. He wanted to whisper all his secrets to her and find solace in her arms. If he was to tell someone, she would be the one, and this would be the time.

"He made me kill her." He whispered so softly that he was surprised she heard him.

"Kill who?"

And now that the dam had broken he could not stop the river of words that spilled from his mouth. "H-he made me kill her, I didn't w-want to, he made me do it." Hot tears spilled down Draco's pale cheeks and he did nothing to wipe them away, as there was no stopping them now. Hermione said nothing, knowing he would continue. "He made me kill Pansy." Draco barely choked out, refusing to meet Hermione's innocent gaze and see the betrayal and disgust there. "He told me h-he'd kill me if I d-didn't do it. It was p-punishment for not k-killing Dumbledore. A-and she b-begged m-me not t-to d-do it, b-but I did, I k-killed h-her."

He could no longer contain the wracking sobs that coursed through his body, hardly allowing him to string together a coherent sentence. "I didn't want to die." He finally whispered brokenly, beyond ashamed at his own cowardice. It had meant nothing in the end, now he was dying. Now that he was through confessing, he felt that he should have never begun. Revealing his darkest day to her would make her look at him with hatred. She would have died before killing a friend. She would've been brave. The very day still haunted him to no extent; the look in Pansy's eyes as she tearfully begged him not to end her life, as she hatefully accused him of once saying that he loved her. He had betrayed her. And Voldemort had laughed.

Draco refused to meet Hermione's eyes, afraid of seeing the hatred shining in their murky depths. But instead of hate he was suddenly pulled forward against her. She pressed a hand to the back of his head and allowed him to bury his face in her chest, and the sobs tore through his body. She stroked his hair, whispering, "Shh, it's alright," in the most soothing way she could muster. She kissed the top of his head and allowed her tears to fall in his hair, holding him tighter against her, trying to make all the fear disappear out of the both of them, trying to make it alright but knowing that she couldn't.

She knew she would stop at nothing to find a cure for Draco. She wouldn't sleep, she wouldn't eat, she would not rest until she knew he was going to live. In that moment, with their bodies intertwined as one, their worst fears being shared, she knew that she loved him. It was not a love from the romance novels she had once dived in, though. It was a love far too deep to be expressed in a novel. It spread warmth through her body and made her feel sad instead of happy. Was love not supposed to make one feel elated? That was what the books all said. That was what she had once wanted as a naïve child while watching Ron smile at her. This was not that kind of love. This love made her feel melancholy and disoriented. It was not a bad feeling, but different. This love she could not explain. They were connected in the mess that was war, they shared their pain, they shared their fears, and they shared their warmth.

Love was all one had to keep themselves sane in war.

A/N: I know, it's short. Sorry! At least love is in the air :) Don't be afraid, review!