Chapter Eight- Life Now

Malfoy's bed was empty and made when Hermione returned to the Hospital Wing later that day. She had brought a book that had reminded her of him from the library and a small parcel of food from the kitchens, and had just turned the corner when she noticed he was suspiciously absent. The room was empty and all she could do was stand and stare at the place he had been. When her brain caught up, Hermione turned on her heel and went back to the Common Room.

It had been three days since she had last seen him.

Malfoy didn't turn up for any of their lessons. Hermione didn't see him in the Great Hall. They didn't cross paths when they went on their midnight wanders when neither of them could sleep.

She found the insomnia worse than before, waking as soon as the sun stirred if she fell asleep at all, and spent every moment of her free time in the library. Working distracted her. It tired her out too so that even if she couldn't sleep during the night, she managed a nap at the very least. Hermione sat with Ginny and Neville at mealtimes, pretending to listen. They spoke about insignificant things and sometimes Luna would join them, and the conversation would reach a level of absurd that Hermione would tune out straight away. She still wrote to Harry and Ron. Mrs Weasley still sent her knitted scarves and gloves and hats.

But Hermione felt lonely.

Try as she might, she couldn't stop her eyes from seeking him out. There was something about the fury in Malfoy, the unbridled fear and feeling, that reminded her she was alive too. Hermione didn't think he realised it, but he believed in her.

She needed his belief in her.

That was the reason, she convinced herself, that she was currently chasing Blaise Zabini down the corridor, walking as quickly as her legs would carry her, neglecting the fact that she had Ancient Runes next and her school bag was on her bed back in her dorm. The Slytherin was much taller than her and he walked faster. The coattails of his green cloak were about to disappear around the corner when Hermione broke into a run and called, "Zabini!"

Whether he didn't hear her or he ignored her, she didn't know.

She huffed and skirted round the corner. "Zabini!"

Now, he stopped and turned around.

Hermione didn't think she'd ever spoken a word to the boy in front of her. He'd never been particularly loud or vehement in his distaste for people like her and whilst he was intelligent enough to be in most of her classes, he kept mostly to himself. Blaise Zabini was tall and impassive. He didn't radiate disgust like Malfoy always used to, but gave the impression that he was somewhat impatient with everyone that wasted their breath on him. He regarded her with a single raised eyebrow.

She took a breath.

"Have you seen-?"

He didn't let her finish.

"I'll be straight with you, Granger, because I'm a Slytherin and we have a reputation for being honest, even to the point of brutality." Hermione snapped her lips shut. "I don't like you. I've never liked you. Your blood status didn't help, but I don't care for all that. You rub me up the wrong way- too smartass and haughty." He spoke so matter-of-fact, but his voice wavered now, fading and regaining track again unsteadily. "So if you've got some kind of agenda, if you get some kind of- of sick kick out of seeing Draco down and beaten, then I don't want you anywhere near him..."

Hermione stared at him, dumbfounded. She felt her gut coil with fury and she opened her mouth to argue when Zabini cut her off. He pinched his nose tiredly.

"That being said... when I saw you by his side in the Hospital Wing, I- you help him sleep. I don't know how. I don't know why you. Somehow, despite your irritating volume, you quiet everything in his head, so... thank you, Granger. Before he got the shit beaten out of him and you hauled his sorry arse back to reality, I- I honestly thought that was it. That he was dead, that he'd died years ago. Now, I'm starting to think he survived the war after all."

Hermione didn't look at him. Her eyes traced the cracks in the stone floor. "The fighting might be over but the war is still happening, Zabini. He's survived so far. But I think he's still teetering over the edge."

She still wasn't looking at him so she heard rather than saw his despair, for it caught in his throat when he said, "How do I catch him if he falls?"

Now, Hermione raised her chin and she smiled at him. Zabini had never been so vulnerable; she threw him entirely off guard. "This war has claimed too many people. I won't let it claim another. Draco Malfoy will not fall. I refuse to let him."

"He's too proud for that, Granger. You know he is."

Hermione sighed. "I know. If I knew another arse-kicking would knock him out of it, I'd gladly do it myself, but I'm not sure."

Zabini chuckled, but the sound died on his lips too quickly, as if he remembered who they were and what they were talking about. "He's immune to physical pain now. You don't know what they did to him, Granger."

"Then tell me," she whispered.

Zabini stared at her. A muscle clenched in his jaw. "They broke him. Now, he's facing a life sentence for trying to survive."

Hermione's body went cold. Her stomach dropped and she felt the horror crawling through her veins, rushing in the blood to her head. "Life?"

"You didn't know?"

She could only shake her head. Her hands shook. Dear God, how could anyone condemn a child?

Zabini shifted, holding his head in his hand for a moment. He said, "Don't tell him I told you."

"Where is he?" she managed to get out.

He looked at her unsurely. "Granger…"

"Zabini, he helps me sleep too."

There was a sliver of indecision playing across his face, tearing at the indifference he usually wore there but Hermione stood her ground. The school bell rung but she ignored it. Ancient Runes could wait because Draco Malfoy was in pain and she needed to find him.

Zabini eyed her cautiously. "What are you going to do, Granger?"

She pursed her lips and tilted her chin ever so slightly higher. "I'm going to give him a piece of my mind whilst he's still around for me to do it."

oOoOoOo

Somehow, she managed to convince Zabini. She wondered if it was the conviction in her voice or if he had seen her soul leaking out of her eyes. Either way, Hermione found herself traipsing down the sloping lawns with her back to the school she was meant to be studying in, cloak whipping about her legs, heart in her mouth. She followed the path down to the lake, then skirted right towards the forest, curving round the banking where the trees thickened into shade and the sticks cracking under her feet provided the only pathway back to the rest of the world. Sound cut off suddenly and she was left alone with the shakiness of each breath and the pounding of her heart in her ears.

"Head towards the Black Lake," Zabini had said. "Follow it round, even when the footpath ends, keep going. There's a little hidden shingle. He likes the quietness there."

Hermione waded through the shadows. She knew he wouldn't be thrilled to see her, especially not entreating on his secret space, but he'd avoided her for long enough. Her mind was whirring with things she needed to say to him, but every outcome resulted in him running away from her or sneering in her face and she didn't know if she could cope with either. He needed to hear this. The truth would hurt him but it might also save him and sweet Merlin, if the latter was a possibility, Hermione Granger was going to try it.

A life sentence.

She remembered sitting with him on the cold stone floor, staring at the blinking band around his ankle. Pending trial. Hermione had no idea then that it was so serious. She thought he might be on for house arrest or community work. But as she walked through the chill, she heard his voice, broken and terrified:

"I wake up when I know they're coming for me, when I feel them reach for my soul."

It was cold out already. September had frozen into October and winter was crisp and ready on the air, curling leaves that clung to branches and stealing every breath that left her lips. Hermione wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck because, despite the cold, when she caught sight of him, she was sure it dropped a few degrees colder.

It wasn't so much that he was a cold person, more his countenance never held a flicker of warmth, and the marble like features of his face ensured he looked more like a statue, than a living human being. His large chest barely moved when he breathed, and his eyes would regard everything with an air of boredom. He was impossibly tall, with pale skin, never fused with blush, and blond hair that remained the only thing to be moved by outside influences when the wind threaded through it. But what really struck her were his eyes: two light and icy glaciers, more blue than the summer skies, enough to make even the sun freeze over. He hid everything in those eyes.

"Malfoy."

He seized up.

"What are you doing here, Granger?" he asked in a low voice.

Seeing him now, the words she had practised in her head, all the rationality she had stored inside of her, flooded from her tongue. Hermione only felt tangible relief, so profound it almost made her sob. It was short-lived, however, and in its place, the terrible head of anger reared, infecting her entire body. She couldn't hold it back. When she stopped, rooted to the spot, and he turned to face her, Hermione could only stare at him and clench her gloved fists.

"Why have you been avoiding me?"

Malfoy's lips twisted. "I haven't been avoiding you, Granger. It's a big castle. People like us, we don't cross paths naturally."

"What do you mean?" she asked. "People like us?"

His breath was harsh and derisive. "Do you really have to ask?"

"Clearly."

Malfoy pressed his lips into a line and stared at her for a moment. He shook his head a little, and said, "Granger, we are on different sides of this fight-"

"What fight, Malfoy?" demanded Hermione. She started forwards but he matched her with each step back. "There is some non-existent battle between us that you seem to think you're losing! I know you close your eyes and we're back in the war but we are not fighting one another, Malfoy. We're on the same side of this life. Maybe it's not the side we want to be on because it's harder here, but that's the way it is, so suck it up and live, Malfoy, because no one is going to do it for you!"

His face twisted, like he'd swallowed something sour, and he turned away, towards the lake. The afternoon sun danced across the surface, and Hermione had to squint to take it in. The sheer audacity of the sunlight warmed her skin. She closed her eyes briefly.

"I don't care anymore, Granger," said Malfoy.

Hermione looked at him. "Well I do. So you better start caring or I swear to God-"

"What? What will you do?" He laughed. It was bitter and cold and she flinched. "You can't do any worse."

"Can't I?"

Malfoy winced.

She sighed heavily, the rest of her frustration falling from her lips like a stone in water. "I feel like we only ever go in circles. We've had a variation of this same conversation over and over again."

"Then stop it," he murmured.

"What?" demanded Hermione. The fury sparked in her again. "Is it so bad? That you're the only thing that makes me feel even relatively alive?"

He whipped around, and his hair glinted in the dying sunlight. Hermione felt her heart ache; his lips were thin and red, splitting along the seam where he'd bitten them to stop from crying out or screaming, and his face was screwed up in nothing short of agony.

"Yes! It is! It's the worst fucking thing, Granger, because we are not friends." Malfoy moved so close to her, and he was seething. His teeth were bared and clenched and he hissed his words, of spraying her with spit. There was a blue vein pulsating in his forehead. "I made your life hell for seven years. I see you screaming, bleeding out in my house, every night when I try to sleep. I don't need this, Granger! I don't need this, and I don't need you! Just do us both a favour and fuck off."

He started toward her and Hermione stumbled backwards, tripping over the pebbles on the beach. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him, even as they teared up. "Why must you keep saying that? Do you think I've forgotten where we stood before the war? Do you think this is normal to me? That I like being so dependent on someone who hates my guts?"

Malfoy stopped. He stared at her, breathing heavily. The trees sighed, the wind curled around their ankles, kissing their necks, and it was almost as though they were a hurricane, wreaking havoc through a field of flowers.

The words were torn from his lips.

"I don't hate you."

"I-" she stopped. Her voice died in her throat. She had to swallow before she could continue and even then, she sounded weak. "Then why are you avoiding me?"

"I can't stand to look at you, Granger." He broke and, sure enough, his eyes clung to the ground. She could see the way his face crumpled, "because I need you. I fucking need you."

The words froze in the air. They seemed to echo, then stop completely, so tangible Hermione could almost read them, or reach out and take them before they dissipated into the October mist forever.

"Malfoy, look at me," said Hermione. He didn't want to. She could see the pain in his face, weighing his lips down, making the veins in his neck bulge. She moved closer to him, slowly so he had all the time in the world to move away, but when he didn't, Hermione stepped in front of him and took hold of his face in her hands. He was so cold. She could feel the chill of his skin through her gloves. Malfoy was crying. She whispered, "This is life now. We're broken but we're trying to fix ourselves. I know you're scared. You don't have to admit it out loud, but I want you to know that I will stay with you through the darkness. I see you, Draco Malfoy, and I won't let you fall."