A/N: No, I haven't died. I will give you all my pathetic excuses at the end ...

-NOTHING-

DRACO'S POV

About a year ago, a couple of months before Voldemort had been defeated, he used to temporarily occupy residence at The Manor. On many nights, when I was supposed to be studying Aunt Bellatrix's Dark techniques, I would hear disturbing noises that drifted quite clearly through my bedroom door. At the time, it was obvious to me that some stupid wizard or witch was trying their luck with Voldemort – attempting to not betray any useful information. I say stupid, because this act inevitably resulted in that person's death. Yet, the sound of struggle as that person physically resisted against one of Voldemort's minions became too familiar – so much so that there came a point when I would block off the noise. Blocking off the acidic feeling that dripped through my body was even harder though.

Imagine how shocked I was when I heard a similar type of struggle as I made my way to the Heads' Tower. My body tensed automatically as horrible memories rushed forth to greet me. I clenched my teeth, trying to drive away these memories; instead I picked up my pace to a fast run and sprinted in the direction of the noise. Going through that mirror had not altered my physique, thankfully, so I was still able to run quite quickly.

I came to a stop, breathing heavily. What I saw made me want to kick the pillar next to me. On the floor, wrestling and grunting like idiots was two second-year Hufflepuff boys. All that wasted energy spent on running...

I waved my wand, my frustration making the movement slightly static, and the two boys sprung apart, their backs hitting the wall they collided against. I didn't bother with arranging my facial expression into a stern, 'Head Boy' look. I looked down at the boys who hadn't even bothered to get up from the floor; they were scowling menacingly at each other.

"Twenty points apiece deducted from Hufflepuff as a result of unethical conduct in the corridors," I barked at them. The fact that they had just cost their house forty points didn't seem to affect them. Their scowls pulled down their eyebrows and their hands were fisted at their sides in rage.

The one – a black-haired boy – pointed at the other. "But he started it!" he yelled.

The other boy – a blonde, scrawny one – looked outraged, his eyes bulging. "I started it? You were the one who started it! I had only –"

I closed my eyes briefly, hating the sound of their whiny bickering. "Enough," I said quietly, knowing that my voice carried authority. The two shut their mouths, turning their bodies toward me, their heads bowed. "A further ten points deducted for disobedience," I said. I really was in a horrible mood.

The two raised their heads to look at me, expressions of indignation apparent on their faces. "But that's fifty whole points!" the blonde boy yelled.

I narrowed my eyes. "Should we make it sixty?" I asked, getting irritated.

Blondie licked his lips. "No, but—"

His response was cut off as we heard a screech: "HELP!" It came from somewhere not too far from where we were. With my body alerted into action mode, I didn't even bother to look back as I raced down the corridor, abandoning the boys behind me. The corridor swerved to the left and then to the right, and I urged my feet to carry me faster as the cries for help went on and on.

Finally, I turned left into a straight stretch of corridor, and stopped dead. I heard the two boys' footsteps die as they came to stand next to me. "Woah," Blondie whispered, staring at the scene before us. My face felt flushed at the sudden burst of energy I had just used, yet I felt the heat quickly fade as I focused on the two girls who were situated not a few steps away from us. The one was on the floor, trembling violently, her face masked by the other girl's body. The latter was bending over the other girl, shaking her.

Shock glued my feet to the ground, and despite my mental efforts to move my feet forward, they just wouldn't.

Hearing Blondie, the kneeling girl turned around, her eyes wild, tears streaming down her face. My mouth went dry. Romilda Vane.

"Malfoy! Help me! Help me!" Vane cried, looking at me desperately.

The shock melted away as panic enveloped me. If this was Romilda Vane – and it definitely was her – then the other girl on the floor...I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise as the goose bumps popped out of my skin. I raced towards the two girls, slightly staggering. I knew who the girl on the floor was. I knew it before I could even see her face –

"What the fuck did you do to her?" I yelled at Vane, pushing her roughly aside so that I could get clear access to Hermione. I didn't care that I had just cussed in front of a girl. The very fact that she had done something extremely life-threatening to Hermione didn't even make her a feminine being. "Stupefy!" I shouted, pointing my wand at Vane, whilst I knelt down beside Hermione. I heard a dull thump as Vane landed several feet away. She wouldn't be out for long – my spell was weakened by my lack of concentration.

"Hermione?" I murmured quietly, my eyes scanning her features, hoping that she would wake up or even register the fact that I was here. I tried to kid myself that she was sleeping – having a horrible nightmare. I braced myself for her reply, feeling as if her eyes would open and her quivering would stop. I wanted her to get up and laugh at me, telling me that she played a trick on me.

Yet I felt scared. I felt helpless. I couldn't delude myself into silly fantasies. It was evident that she was definitely not sleeping. Her entire body was trembling – just like the night she heard about her mother's death. Her eyes were shut, and I could see her eyeballs rolling around under her eyelids. Sweat was falling down her face. At that moment, I didn't have to think twice about what it meant to touch a person. I didn't care what the word 'friend' meant. All I knew was that she needed something cold against her skin. I didn't care that I was stepping out of my comfort zone when I brushed the stray strands of hair off her face. I gasped when I felt the intense heat radiating off her skin as if she had been close to a fire. Her skin felt clammy, and it had never looked so pale.

I placed the back of my hands on her face, attempting to cool her down. "Hermione," I said louder. I was panicking, and only then did I notice how drastically my heartbeat had increased. I looked over my shoulder, noticing that the boys still hadn't left. "Go call Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey!" I shouted at them. They stood frozen, their gazes transfixed on Hermione's shuddering body. "GO!" I yelled louder. They took off, stumbling, shooting glances over their shoulders.

I didn't want to move Hermione, scared that her system might react badly to movement. I tried not to apply too much pressure as I patted her face with my cool hands, but the shock that was swallowing me hindered my efforts. The heat from her skin was taking the coolness away from mine, so I conjured a hand-towel and a bowl and yelled, "Aguamenti!" pointing my wand at the bowl. The bowl filled with water, and I soaked the towel in it. Squeezing it, I dabbed Hermione's face frantically. I looked down at her, noticing that her body was convulsing less and less. The cold water must be helping then! I looked over my shoulder, thinking that I heard footsteps, but turned back to Hermione as I realised there weren't any. Where the hell were McGonagall and Pomfrey?

"Hermione...wake up..." I urged over and over. I heard an awful sound, and looked around only to find bloody Vane. The witch had regained consciousness. She looked at me, with a frightened look in her eyes.

"Malfoy, are you...are you alright?" HerHHHHlknhvlHermioone3Herm Her she asked hesitantly.

The bloody well I'm alright! Vane had done Merlin knows what to Hermione and she had the nerve to ask if I was alright!

"Only...you're crying," she nervously added.

So that was where the awful sound was coming from. Me.

I reached up to touch my cheek and found that it was wet. I ignored it. Hermione's body was hardly shaking anymore, and her skin no longer felt that hot. Yet, I still kept my hands there; I still dabbed her face with the towel. I looked over my shoulder again, wondering how much longer it would take for them to arrive.

I glared at Vane. "What did you do to her?" I asked in a low voice, deciding that Vane was not worth the energy to raise my voice for.

Vane's eyes turned pleading, and she edged toward me. I held up my wand, pointing it at her. "One more move closer to Hermione, Vane, and you'll regret it," I growled.

My fists clenched at the sight of Vane, and I almost snapped my wand. I looked at Hermione again, who was looking more peaceful now, and gained my strength and calm from her. I breathed in and out really slowly, holding Hermione's hand in mine as I did so. I should have predicted this. Why didn't I? I should never have left Hermione. I blamed myself. If I hadn't left her...

"Well?" I asked, not looking at Vane. She wasn't worth it. She was lucky Hermione was here; or else I would have mauled her to death.

"You must understand, Malfoy, I never meant for her to...for her to be like this!" I clenched my teeth and concentrated on Hermione's face: her flawless skin, her lips, her nose, her jawline...her closed eyes. "I gave her an apple that had a potion disguised in it," Vane continued, sounding scared. I closed my eyes, predicting the direction this conversation was going to take. "I put in a potion to make her look ug-ugly... so that I would be the most...beautiful...But this wasn't supposed to happen! Why is this happening?" She spoke in more rushed tones towards the end of her confession.

I didn't bother to reply. She didn't deserve any answers.

Hermione's hand was cooling down. I squeezed it gently, not knowing if she could feel it.

I heard footsteps this time, and I whipped my head around. "Over here, Professor!" I shouted, hoping that she and Madam Pomfrey would hurry faster.

They came to a stop behind me, and McGonagall gasped. Pomfrey's eyes widened and she hurried to my side, checking Hermione's vitals. I wanted to tell her not to touch Hermione, but I knew that that would be foolish. She knew what she was doing...right? McGonagall walked slowly towards me, her eyes never wavering from Hermione's body.

"What happened?"she asked quietly.

I narrowed my eyes, and I clenched my fists in anger. "You have Vane there to thank," I said harshly, jerking my head in the culprit's direction.

McGonagall's eyes widened. "But surely—"

"Minerva!" Pomfrey's shout came from my left.

I whipped my head around to face her. She looked shocked and scared. She was holding Hermione's left wrist in her hand. I looked at Hermione. She looked so serene.

"Minerva...she's dead," Pomfrey whispered.

Vane started to scream.

Something twisted inside me. Some horrible creature fisted its claw around my heart, and the pain I felt at those two words engulfed me. The emotion I felt became too overwhelming, and in a fit of insanity, I threw Pomfrey aside, attempting to get closer to Hermione. "HERMIONE!" I screamed, bending down to her chest to listen for her heartbeat. I didn't waste time on wondering why it had taken me so long to express my anguish through a shout.

I couldn't hear her heartbeat. "HERMIONE!" I screamed louder. My body started to shake, and I felt McGonagall trying to pull me away. She was saying something. I couldn't hear her though. Everything around me dulled into a monotone, and the only thing I could hear was my own hitched breathing. How could I have missed it? How could I have missed her death? She was alive when I got here! She was breathing!

That means...that means that when I had felt her body cool down, when I saw her convulsions disappear...thos weren't signs of recovery; they were signs of –

"Hermione," I said, now hardly a whisper. I pulled her closer to me, bending over her, clutching her lifeless body to my own body. I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing in the scent of her hair. I trailed my fingers through her soft curls, and gave in to the tremors violently making their way through my body. I imagined a laughing Hermione; I imagined that this was all a dream – a nightmare; that none of this was real...

My eyes snapped open. I placed just enough distance between Hermione and I so that I could take a look at her face. I looked up at McGonagall, who was kneeling a foot away from me. Tears were slowly falling from her eyes, but she looked back at me, nonetheless. "Professor," I said, my voice feeling raw in my throat. "Professor, at the end of the fairytale...Prince Charming kisses Snow White..."

She merely looked at me, her eyes too full of sadness to say anything. I looked at Hermione again and lowered my head to place a kiss on her lips. Her lips weren't as warm as they used to be. I didn't receive a reaction. I couldn't hear her breathing. I couldn't feel the blood rush up to face.

I couldn't feel anything.

I drew away, biting my lip as I fought back a scream. There had been no flickers of life on her face. I kissed her again, this time applying more pressure.

Nothing.

Her eyes didn't open to reveal the spark in her brown eyes. I slumped, falling against the wall behind me. The kiss wouldn't work because I was no longer Prince Charming – I was sure of it. I thought back to the day I received the part of Prince Charming...Hermione had said that the kiss brings Snow White back to life because Prince Charming loved her. He was in love with her. Maybe that was the other reason why Hermione wouldn't wake up! I'm not in love with her...I just like her enough to regard her as more than a friend...

My thoughts were spinning around in never-ending circles, and I felt more confused.

"Mr Malfoy," McGonagall said. "Not even magic can awaken the d-dead." She choked on the last word.

I felt as if iced water was running around in my body. Why the hell would they make up stupid, senseless stories that didn't mean anything, then? Why stretch magic to such a degree that it can convince even us wizards of the impossible? Where is the bloody purpose in such a story...in such a fairytale?

"No," I said quietly, burying my face in Hermione's hair. "She's not dead."

"Mr Malfoy –" McGonagall said again.

I looked up at her. "Professor, I can feel it. She's not dead," I repeated. It didn't feel as if Hermione was dead. I was so sure that when someone died, someone really close to you, that you would feel it. When my mother and father were taken away, and I had known that I wouldn't see them for a long time, I felt it. It was possible to feel a loss – I was sure of it. And Hermione...although she looked it, she was not dead. I would not believe that she had died.

McGonagall sighed. She probably thought I was going insane. "Mr Malfoy," she said slowly. "We need to take her down to the Infirmary. Madam Pomfrey needs to get Hermione's bod – Hermione ready for her parents."

I hugged Hermione closer to my chest. "No," I said.

I didn't have to look up to know that Pomfrey and McGonagall had shared a look. "Mr Malfoy—" Pomfrey began.

I glared at her. "I said 'NO'!" I shouted, feeling the blood rush up to my face. I looked down at Hermione again. "She can't be dead. You don't understand," I said.

"Mr Malfoy, she's not breathing," Madam Pomfrey said in what she perhaps thought was a kind voice.

I closed my eyes again, refusing to accept the finality in her words. "This is a fairytale, Madam Pomfrey. Hermione cannot be killed by a mere fairytale...she cannot be killed..."

"Mr Malfoy—" McGonagall tried again.

"No," I said again, feeling something akin to hysteria race through my system. Still holding Hermione close to my body, I withdrew my wand pointing it at Vane who was crying quietly a good few feet away from us. "This is her fault. She must pay. Avada—"

"Expelliarmus!" both McGonagall and Pomfrey cried out. The double force wrenched me away from Hermione and I fell to the floor. Staring at Hermione who was lying on the floor a few feet from where I was...I felt cold and alone. I started to crawl towards her, feeling too weak to get up but McGonagall held her hand up. "Leave, Mr Malfoy. Leave before you cause more harm."

I couldn't do that. All of this still felt so unreal to me.

Pomfrey pointed her wand at Hermione, muttered something, and Hermione rose into the air – hanging as if there was a rope attached to her from the ceiling. The sight of this looked so eerie, yet I couldn't look away. Hermione could not be dead. I remained adamant about that. Potions used to distort one's features could not kill a person.

McGonagall – grasping Vane's hand in hers – walked behind Pomfrey as they left with Hermione's body hovering in the air. Did they think I was a danger to them? Vane shot fearful looks over her shoulder at me, and she cowered into McGonagall's side. Shouldn't they be telling Vane to leave? She could try killing Hermione again!

But...in the version we had been given of the fairytale, the wicked step-mother shows some repentance towards the end. Could Vane be showing some repentance?

"No," I murmured to myself. Vane was still bad; she still had bad intentions. I would sort her out later, though. Right now, she was not a priority. I needed to be with Hermione.

I hurried to catch up with them. McGonagall, hearing me, turned around. "No, Mr Malfoy," she said, her voice weighted down by sadness. Vane, like a bloody coward, hid behind McGonagall.

I breathed in deeply, trying to be calm. "I apologise, Professor," I said quietly. "You have my wand; I won't hurt Vane." Without waiting for a reply, I walked passed her, and placed myself in front of Pomfrey, causing her to stop. I refused to look at Hermione's body hanging in midair next to her, but I couldn't help it. I fought for control.

Pomfrey, guessing what I wanted, sighed. She waved her wand, and I caught Hermione in my arms. She seemed so light, so fragile, so vulnerable. It looked as if she was sleeping. I pulled her against my chest, trying to give her not-so-warm body some warmth from mine. As I walked, following Pomfrey, I didn't look away from Hermione's face. I concentrated on every part of it once again, and I felt like kicking myself. The last time I had seen her – alive – was when I had kissed her in the cottage and then, like an idiot, I left. I had hurt her. I hadn't even said a proper goodbye.

I deserved to be punished.

A tear fell from my eye and splashed onto her creased top.

Our silent journey to the Infirmary was short. Too short.

With heavy reluctance, I placed Hermione on the bed closest to Pomfrey's office. And as if we were back in the Common Room, I pulled the blankets over her body, ensuring that she wouldn't get too cold.

And then I waited. Merlin knows what for, but I waited. My thoughts continued to haunt me, and nothing would make them go away. I sat on the chair next to Hermione's bed, grateful that McGonagall let me stay behind. She had probably told Pomfrey that she thought that I was mentally unstable, but I didn't care. They could think whatever they felt like thinking, really.

I gently flipped Hermione's hand over and slowly traced the lines on her palm. Even in ...well, not death, surely, but something close to it ... her skin was still soft. I sighed. How could this be fixed? Who would know how to fix it? I racked my brain, mulling over and rejecting ideas. I focused my gaze on the sky, trying to absorb any ideas that were just hanging there for me to grasp. The dark blue hue of the night sky became lighter as dawn approached, and the stars ever so slowly blinked out of sight.

I looked back down at Hermione.

Nothing.

I pulled a hand through my hair, sighing. The only person who would know how to solve this problem would be the person who started this problem. I reluctantly got up from my seat, and murmured, hoping that she would hear me, "I'll be back." She would. I know she would.

I let go of her hand. Hating the fact that McGonagall still ha my wand with her, I approached the doors of the Infirmary. I forced myself not to look back, because if I had, I would have wanted to stay.

Hermione's PoV

I have witnessed Harry lose consciousness many times. Most of those times, if not all, had to do with his connection with Voldemort. A bystander wouldn't really notice, unless Harry had been previously standing, or unless they had already been watching him.

With me...Would people believe me if I told them that I had died? Would they believe me, I wonder, if I told them that Draco's kiss did, in actual fact, bring me back to life?

I have no idea what was in that apple that Romilda Vane had so predictably given me. I remember quite vividly the excruciating agony that I experienced; yet I only vaguely recall her screaming for help. After that moment, I don't think I could hear anything – everything is a blur after that. The last thing to register on my mind was the feeling of cold hands against my skin. They could have belonged to Romilda, they could have belonged to the person she was crying out for help to, they could have belonged to Peeves, for all I know.

And then I died.

That sounds rather arbitrary, and if I wasn't under the current situation, I would have laugh, too. I didn't go into the "light", or anything. It was more like a lightless vacuum of sorts; as if I was floating on thin air. The next thing I felt was a pair of lips covering my own. I stumbled hesitantly out of my vacuum, wondering what on earth was calling me back. The feeling was quite unnatural, and I felt like holding on to something so that I wouldn't go back. I am like that, you see. I resist.

The second time I felt the lips against mine, I couldn't be unsure anymore. They were Malfoy's – Draco's. There was something different about his lips that made them fairly unique and instantly recognisable. In this vacuum of mine I was blind, yet I was completely certain that it was Draco Malfoy kissing me.

I had to go back, then. I wanted to tell him how angry I was with him. I wanted to tell him how much he didn't deserve the right to kiss me again. I wanted to yell at him for being callous. Therefore, I had to go back. No idiot alive would kiss me, leave, and then have the cheek to kiss me again when he knew I couldn't respond.

So I went back, just to tell him all of these things, yet a wall went up. Just like that, and bang! I collided hard with it. I got thrust back into my vacuum, yet this time, I became more alert of my surroundings. Merlin, I could hear and feel.

"Not even magic can awaken the d-dead," I heard Professor McGonagall say. Wait, did she think I was dead?

I heard Malfoy's 'No' and felt him bury his face in my hair. How dare he! How dare he even touch me like that! Bloody hell! Let me out of this place! I tried to penetrate the wall, but it slammed me back into the nothingness. I felt peeved. Couldn't they at least check my pulse? Did the thought even occur to them?

"She's not dead," I heard Malfoy continue. Wait a second! He knew I wasn't dead? Then why was he not doing anything?

I heard Professor McGonagall stumble over a few words about having to take me to the Infirmary to get my body ready for my parents. Aaah! Did she not just hear what Malfoy said? I'm not dead. I did die, yes, but now I'm not dead. What were they going to do to me?

I couldn't fathom the reason why Malfoy held me closer to him. I felt like hitting him. Could he not read my body language? I didn't want him to touch me! Wait, was that...was that sadness I heard in his voice? Why was he sad?

Not that I cared, or anything. Was he sad that I ... that I died? But he just said that I didn't die! Which I did, but then I came back – but that's all irrelevant now.

"She's not breathing," I heard Madam Pomfrey say. What? Not breathing? Then how in the bloody hell did I know what was going on? I couldn't be imagining this, surely.

Malfoy's reply startled me. Did he not think that this fairytale killed me? He was there when I found out about my mother's death! It killed her, so it was only a matter of time before it killed me, too. Didn't he know that? Malfoy underestimates magic, he does.

And then shock coursed through my system as I heard him mutter the first word of the Killing Curse. He had gone completely insane! He was trying to kill Romilda Vane! Yes, sure she was a bad person, but that was only because she received the part of the wicked step-mother ... he had to know this! Please, can someone please stop him?

"Expelliarmus!" I heard two people cry.

And then, nothing. I couldn't hear again; I couldn't feel again. What had just happened?

I "woke up" from my vacuum Merlin knows how long later, and I could feel him again. We were moving, I knew. Where to, though? Why wasn't he saying anything? I felt him place me on a...was this a bed? I heard a chair scraping against the floor, and in my mind I winced. Merlin, that noise sounded awful. I heard him convincing Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey for him to stay behind. Why would he want to go and do that, though? Was he bored?

I felt him tracing patterns on my hand, and I wanted to slap him again. Why did he insist on playing his little games with me? For one, what he was doing was quite intimate, and two, it tickled. I heard him hum softly ... he usually did that when he was thinking. What was he thinking about? His humming was so peaceful that I almost didn't want to yell at him for making me feel so angry. Almost.

And then, a good while later, I heard him murmur a short goodbye; something that carried promises. His warm hand left my cold one, and then –

Nothing.

-to be continued-

A/N: Right, so I am terribly sorry that I haven't updated in the past, what, two months? It's disgusting, I know. I had exams, I had stress, I had writer's block...the list is endless. Oh no, wait. Yes, that's it. Just those three things, but they're huge things, hey! Ahem, well, I apologise.

The end is almost here. I hope that that chapter was incredibly confusing for you...but I hope that you enjoyed it nonetheless.

If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask : )