She just can't know, she can't find out, just how much she means to me. I always hate myself, just a little bit more, each time I see the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. What I wouldn't do to make it official, to make the taboo, that I'd been raised to believe whole-heartedly, disappear forever. To take back all of the harsh words I'd ever spoken, to her and to any muggle born.
But their relationship could never see the light of day. They'd have to settle for stolen kisses in abandoned corridors, whispered confessions in the dead of night, and nights of sweet pleasure followed by one of them sneaking out before the first rays of light. But oh how he wished he could change all of that. To be able to hold her hand and walk together to class, or to tell her he loved her, in front of everyone or even in private, or to be able to hold her in his arms all night long.
A sad, wistful look came over his face as he looked down at her sleeping form. This was one of his worst fears. And it had come true in an unexpected way. He was a death eater's son, next in line to join Lord Voldemort's army of purebloods, no matter which way the war, the war that was only inevitable, went they would never be together. If Potter and the order won than his family would be locked up in Azkaban, shunned from the wizarding community. If Voldemort won, he cringed at the thought, than he wouldn't have to watch Hermione build a life with another, no, she'd be killed, as an example, by Voldemort or another death eater. The color drained from his face at the thought that he might be tasked with that should that future become reality.
Back in the present he jumped at the sound of the infirmary door slamming shut behind the flustered nurse. He jumped up, trying to explain why he was here, watching over Hermione Granger. But she stopped him.
"Look Draco," she was too tired for formalities, "far too much has gone on today. I don't need to know why you're here, I just need to know that you won't hurt her." She looked down at the pale brunette lying under a thin white sheet, "At least not any worse than she already is." Draco nodded, following the nurse's sad gaze.
Without another word she moved towards her office to write the last bit of paperwork. Before entering her office she looked at the visitor's log for Miss. Granger.
12pm – Ginny Weasley (came in with patient), 12:30
1pm – Ron and Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, 4pm
6pm – Ron and Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, 8pm
Draco was smart enough to make it to the infirmary past curfew, and he wouldn't risk their private relationship by signing into the visitor's book. It stung a bit to see the name of the others she loved written there, knowing that he could never spend that amount of time with her, he couldn't share his worry for her with the people on that list. But, if only for a little bit, he would stay by her side while she slept, hoping she'd wake up and show him those beautiful brown eyes still cloudy with sleep.
Truly his worst fear had come true. He didn't know who had done it, but if he ever found out he would…he would do nothing, what could he even do. Hermione had been hurt, hurt badly, and all because of him. She should never have been in the dungeons at that time.
He always feared that their relationship would put her in the crosshairs, not that her friendship with Potter did any better. But he always thought it would be his father, of Bellatrix, or even Voldemort himself that caused her harm. Never did he think something like this would happen. He folded his tall frame into a small, uncomfortable chair beside her bed and simply studied her now bruised features.
Her curly brown locks were pulled away from her face, frizzing against the soft fabric of her pillow. Her dark lashes grazed her cheeks, her brown eyes hidden behind her eyelids. A white bandage covered her forehead, hiding a gash that went from her ear to her temple and another that stretched along her hairline. There were more bandages on her arms, what skin left uncovered, and there wasn't much, was a purple-blue color as the bruises settled under her skin. He couldn't see under the sheet but he still knew that her right leg was in a splint, the nurse attempting to heal her leg completely while she was still unconscious. Broken bones were still painful, even magic had its limits. He was sure that under her clothes more bruises and injuries would be found. Her skin was pale, more so than usual, and each breath she took was done so shakily. She would cringe slightly as slight tremors of pain from her injuries slid through her. Whoever attacked her must have used crucio on her; the tremors and multitude of evenly spread bruises covering nearly every inch of her body were clear markers of the curse.
Draco couldn't look anymore; he dropped his head into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to wake up from this nightmare. But of course that wouldn't work, this wasn't a nightmare, just his worst fears come true in the form of his own, personal hell.
He was sure he was hearing things the first time he heard the soft groan from where Hermione lay. The second time he convinced himself it was just his mind playing tricks. It wasn't till her voice whispered his name that he realized she was awake. His head jolted up, finding Hermione with her head turned towards him and her soft brown eyes barely open.
"Draco?" she gazed at him with confused, half-lidded eye. "What's…where…where am I?" her voice was soft, slowly forming the words with her lips before speaking.
"You're in the infirmary." He stated blatantly, she tried to sit up but his hand on her shoulder stopped him, "Relax. You were attacked." He couldn't seem to shake the cold, stern voice he used to keep the distance between them. Her amber eyes widened in fright, her hands gripping the thin sheets that covered her. Her teeth bit into her lower lip as it began to quiver slightly. He could see her mind moving through every scenario quickly, must faster than anyone would think possible.
"Wha-?" she couldn't get the word completely out of her mouth, a rather harsh tremor ran through her body, the pain visible in her cringing features. She bit harder into her lip, drawing the tiniest bit of blood. Her hands gripped the sheet tightly, her knuckles white. Her eyes squeezed shut and Draco was left unable to do anything but watch pain distort her features and draw a few beads of sweat to her brow.
Unable to stand it any longer he reached a hand out and held hers, tugging it loose from the sheet and curling his long, boney fingers around her slim ones. Her palms were clammy, and her nails bit into his skin as the tremor continued, he felt intense pressure bearing down on the bones of his hand; any more would have broken it. But the tremor passed before that happened. Her chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath and her hairline now damp with sweat.
"Slughorn found you unconscious in the dungeons early this morning. You have been out all day long. From what I can tell you have a bad gash on your forehead," he trailed a fingertip across the edge of the bandage, "a few cuts and scrapes, and bruises, and possibly a broken leg." He glanced down at her leg before his eyes moved back to her face. He gently stroked back a damp strand of her hair while he allowed this new information to sink in. Her grip on his hand was no longer painful but still a kept the firm grip. She let out a shaky breath, her eyes on him again, the familiar inquisitive and determined look back in place.
"Who did this?" she desperately wanted to know who attacked her.
"Nobody knows. But I'm sure it was a Slytherin.
"Why?"
"The tremors and bruising are at an extent that is an unmistakable symptom of Cruciatus curses."
"Wha-" he cut her off.
"Slytherins are generally from pure blood families, old ones, and many of us were taught how to cast those spells by older relatives. I don't know any other way someone would be able to cast that spell at this level."
"Do you know who did it?"
"No." I felt immense guilt at how little I really knew about what happened, he'd been in his dorm all last night and this morning studying for a potions test, he'd threatened anyone who dared to disturb him. Though he didn't think he could have acted normal hearing from his friends how Hermione had been attacked. "What were you doing down there, your patrols were supposed to be by the astronomy tower with Weasely?"
"He never showed, I started the patrol and he still never showed but I ran into Jones. She was signed up to patrol the dungeons for another half hour but she wasn't feeling well. I just offered to cover her last half hour and thought maybe we could…" she blushed faintly and looked away quickly, all of the things they'd done together and she still got flustered talking about it. "I… I don't remember anything after that." She was frustrated, usually her mind was her greatest asset, but this time it was working against her.
Meanwhile Draco was having a bit of an internal battle himself. So it was Weasely that should have been with her, it was his fault this happened. He was to blame, or at least he could be blamed. Draco's blood began to boil, rage bubbling just below the surface. Weasely could have stopped this; it was his fault that Hermione, his Hermione, was hurt. His knuckles were white again, but this time it wasn't Hermione squeezing their joined hands.
"Draco? What's wrong?" she looked up at him worried but unable to make out anything from his stoic facial expression, usually she could read him through his eyes but she couldn't see the pools of cool sliver that she loved. He was nonresponsive, forcing Hermione to lift herself up, groaning at the sore stiffness in her arms, shoulders, and back. He snapped out of his focus at the sound of her groan, a hand on her back helping her sit up.
"What are you doing? You need to lie down and rest." He insisted, his frustration forgotten for the moment.
"What were you thinking about right now? What was making you so…angry?" she inquired, her inquisitive eyes a familiar comfort for his troubled mind.
He didn't answer, knowing she'd defend the blithering idiot to the bitter end and not wanting to add any stress to her already troubled mind.
"Nothing, just angry at the…whole…this." He was lost for words for once, gesturing to the space around them he tried to cover up his anger at Weasley with anger at the situation in general.
They sat in silence for a bit, neither one sure what to say given the circumstance. Their hands were still clasped together and his other hand rubbed her back in small, soothing circles, but the room was silent but for the soft sound of their breathing.
"You're quite." Hermione observed.
"Not in a very talkative mood I guess."
"Yes, but usually you still find a way to tease me at least." She tilted her head coyly, trying to lighten the deep, dark mood that had come over him.
"Sorry, I guess I just don't find anything all that amusing right now." His thumb caressed her hand lightly as he stared off into space. Fed up with this behavior Hermione pulled her hand from his and crossed her arms defiantly in front of her chest, blazing eyes pointed at him.
"What is it now?" he questioned, unsure of what he could possibly done to piss her off now, he'd barely spoken.
"I'm not dead." She grabbed his hand and placed it over her heart. "See, still breathing."
"Okay, what does that have to do with anything?"
"I'm alive; there is no need for you to mourn. I'm still here, Draco."
"I'm NOT mourning you Hermione." he looked away, unwilling to admit just how scared he was to lose her. She'd changed him, so much and in such a short time, for the better. He no longer followed blindly, bending to the will of others simply because of their power and stature. He would have never gotten this far without her; he'd still be the git that judged based solely on blood. Well he'd seen Hermione's now, and it looked no different than his.
"Damn it Malfoy!" She hadn't used his last name in a long time, memories of those earlier years stung like freezing water, "For once in your life, please, just show some emotion." Her plead ended on a feeble request; he would have considered it begging if not for the demanding look in her eyes.
He stood there for a while, a scowl forming on his pale face, his Malfoy features contorting to the same cold, hostile scowl that his father sported. Hermione thought he was going to shut her out, to walk away because he didn't like the answer to the question she was asking, the same thing he'd always done.
But he didn't, with resolution in his stormy grey eyes he crashed his lips onto hers, holding her head between his hands carefully, like she as a delicate doll and to handle her to harshly could break her into a thousand people.
This kiss was fuelled by some undistinguishable emotion that Hermione couldn't quite place. It wasn't the hurried, guilty pleasure of their first rushed kisses in dark, abandoned corridors. It wasn't the passionate longing of their more recent kisses when they sneak off during patrols to snog in the halls they were supposed to be patrolling. And it most definitely wasn't the sweet, romantic goodbye kisses they would share at the end of each night together. This wasn't longing or passion or any number of the emotions she'd felt kissing him, and she'd felt more emotions than she dared speak out loud.
His lips were soft but demanding on her, gently coaxing her lips apart so that his tongue could slip between them and explore her mouth. The pads of his thumbs brushing against both sides of her head as his other fingers gingerly tangled in her hair. It seemed as though he was trying to prove something, to himself or to her she couldn't say. Whatever it was he must have done it because after what felt like a lifetime, only a few minutes in reality, he backed his lips off hers, his forehead presses against hers allowing them the breath the same air and stare into each other's eyes. Their breathing was harsh, slight pain radiated form Hermione's ribs from her injuries, but she was focused on Draco at the moment, the movement of his lips signaling that he was about to speak.
"I…I can't lose…you. I can't do it Hermione." He pulled her into an embrace, finishing his speech in hushed whispers that somehow found their way past her bushy hair to reach her ears. "I love you Hermione. I don't know what I'd do if something happened…if you…you." his voice was breathy but he was not crying, he was more serious than she'd ever seen him. She was shocked, she never thought, or even dreamed, she'd hear those words come from him. He never admitted to even liking her, and maybe he didn't, but that didn't matter because he loved her. Shocked and happy tears filled the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill but not quite ready to. She was clinging to him, her hand holding onto his shoulders as she buried her face in his chest. The soft material of the shirt a welcome sensation, though he'd probably complain about the tear stains later on she couldn't help but let those tears fall.
With an even sigh Draco squeezed her tighter and laid his head down on top of her hair, content to just be near her right now as he enjoyed the delicate lavender scented conditioner she used which had somehow managed to cling to her hair. While he preferred her usual scent, a mixture of old parchment and spearmint toothpaste, anything about her would have comforted him now. With one last, deep shuddering breath he closed his eyes.
"I love you too." The faint words, whispered into his shirt were barely audible, but they were heard.