TW: suicide attempts, suicidal thoughts. DO NOT READ IF THESE TRIGGER YOU.

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Black holes are known to be the vacuums of the universe. Swallowing every star, planet, and cluster of rocks that crosses its path into the darkness and nothingness that it possessed; or so it's theorized in the Muggle studies done about them. Draco's new-found fascination was the advanced theories and hypotheses of Muggle science, especially regarding astronomy and space exploration. His name was based on a constellation, after all. The Wizarding World had their own version of the whole study, of course, but they were able to discover everything through magic.

In spending two years on probation and house arrest, he grew to respect and appreciate the inventions of Muggles, along with their determination and discoveries.

He learned how to operate a coffee pot, a telephone, a laundry machine, and even a funny thing called the Internet. All while these Muggle scientists had built a spacecraft and managed to make it land on an asteroid for the first time, which he saw on a Muggle television program called, 'The News'. It was almost like the Prophet, except it aired on this little Muggle contraption called a television.

Based on everything he had read, Draco felt as though a black hole was the best way to describe what being a Death-Eater felt like. It was as if he had been pushed to pass by one and his desires, hopes, and dreams were sucked out of him and stretched into nothingness.

Ever since he was a young boy, he knew his place in the Wizarding World. He understood his pureblood family wasn't good in the sense that the Weasley family was. He had vague memories of meetings that his father would hold with hooded members of what he now knew were loyal Voldemort followers. He remembers being shooed away and carried out by either his mother or one of the house elves. Though, he didn't know what those meetings were about at the time. They happened often throughout his childhood though. As he grew older, his mother would say father was working, and then she would take him out to watch him practice on his broom and then they spent the afternoon together. Talking, having lunch in the garden, laughing. His mother was always his saving grace, and was one of the only lights he had as the darkness consumed him when he grew older.

His father instilled in him that he should never interact with Half-Bloods, Muggle-Borns, or Muggles, nor should he ever reproduce with them. He was superior, so was his father and his father before him.

He stuck to the same friend group, having grown up with them before they attended to Hogwarts. He would bully and pick on those who he found unworthy to be in their presence. He knew he was nothing but a spoiled, loathsome bully. But he enjoyed it.

However, Hermione Granger to Draco Malfoy was like what Kryptonite was to Superman, which he had also learned when watching the Superman series on Muggle television. It was an epiphany to him, finally being able to put into words his connection to Hermione Granger.

He watched her closely and intimately all those years in Hogwarts. He saw how she would scrunch her nose and tap her quill on the piece of parchment when she had to think about a challenging question on a test, he watched how she gulped pumpkin juice every afternoon for lunch, he watched her as her eyes grew wide in transfiguration class, absolutely amazed by the magical abilities of each and every person in the class.

Her voice was rich with intelligence and her talk was extensive as if her brain was an encyclopedia, even when she was the mere age of 11 years old. She could say a single sentence to a simpleton and have them confused for days on end if she wanted to. In any situation she found herself in, she was able to perform basic speechless spells and recall incantations of saviour. He'd heard stories of their stupid Trio, and how she was the backbone of it all. He wasn't surprised, though. She never surprised him. He knew everything she was and everything she was capable of. It scared and excited him all the same.

And that's why he always loved her.

Draco Death-Eater, stupid git, bully, completely-full-of-himself Malfoy, loved the Golden, insufferable, confident, always-had-to-be-right Hermione Granger.

Except he projected these feelings as hate rather than admiration. Because he knew his father would kill him if he acted on these feelings. He would 'dirty' the blood line, and that was forbidden as many pureblood marriages are arranged a few years after they graduate.

He never knew how to express emotions well, now that he thought about it. Whenever he would cry, his father would punish him and tell him that Malfoy's didn't show such vulnerable emotions. Whenever he was happy, his father would say his achievement wasn't good enough or that he shouldn't be happy about something so stupid. He was belittled often for simply having emotions, which resulted in him being unable to show them appropriately.

On the outside, he displayed a constant bored, unimpressed look which he adopted for when he was in the presence of others. A wall he'd put up. His aunt, Bellatrix, told him to never show fear and to file away all his thoughts and memories within his mind. This made him the skilled Occlumens that he was. However, deep down, he was screaming. His emotions were loud, distracting, fleeting about. He was feeling every emotion at once, and had no idea how to handle it.

When it was set that he would receive the Death Mark the summer after 5th year, he began to write letters. He never planned on sending them, but instead used them as more of a journal entry. He found it helped relieve him from his own emotions and mind. He thought of the only person he'd want to confide in, to spill the components of the deepest parts of his mind to. Hermione Granger. He was going to address these letters to her, but as he began the letter with full intentions to write out her name, he stopped at 'To Her'. He choose to keep it anonymous, open to interpretation. Making it seem that these letters were addressed to any girl, in case someone finds them.

Of course, he did everything to avoid this happening. As the years went on, he wrote more letters, and hid them in a drawer inside his closet at the Manor with a disillusion spell. He hoped his elves wouldn't find them, but even if they did he knew they wouldn't say anything. They were hidden, until he was sentenced to house arrest and probation and was relocated to a Muggle house.

He doesn't know what's become of them, or where they are to this day. He assumed the Ministry had them, since the Aurors swept the entire place after they were relocated. He only hoped they weren't sent to her. He would be beyond embarrassed if they were. As if he would actually have a chance and were able to have everything he talked of with her.

After he and his mother were sentenced, he felt empty. As if all the thoughts, emotions, feelings he couldn't handle were gone. The wall he'd built over all those years still stood strong, although it was guarding nothing now. Useless and purposeless; he didn't know what to do with his days anymore. He attempted to take up reading, sketching, learning to use the Muggle items. With the exception of going to the bathroom, he stayed in his room for the first few months, too exhausted to talk to anyone. His mother would send Dotty, the house elf that was relocated with them as part of the bargaining deal with the Ministry, to give him meals and to check in once and a while, but that was all the interaction he would part take in.

As the months went on, he fell deeper and deeper in to that black hole, stretching into nothingness. His motivation to get out of bed, to eat, to shower, everything was gone. Eventually, his will to live, too, was swallowed into the black hole. Days turned into nights, and then nights turned into days. He watched the sky change colours as the sun rose and set, and stared at the craters of the moon for hours until it faded.

His mother would come in to ask him if he fancied a stroll about the small garden the Muggle house had, as they were no longer in house arrest. However, neither of them left the property still. She would mention how thin he'd gotten and asked if he wanted to join her for the lunch Dotty was making, the one she used to make when he was younger. But he stared out the window from the spot on his bed that he barely moved out of. Shaking his head, he didn't say a word. Not having the strength to even form a reply to his mother.

Life after war was supposed to be peaceful, quiet, and was supposed to bring relief. People were supposed to relish in it, thrive and live their lives without fear. They were supposed to return to a new society, and if they were one of the lucky ones, they would find love and create a family. Live their happy ending they'd always dreamt of.

Draco felt anything but. He was a criminal of war. He participated in crimes he regretted every single day. He understood he had to pay the price for what he had done. In fact, he deserved to be in Azkaban, rotting away like his father. He deserved worse. Death was what he craved, for everything he knew to come to an end.

One winter night when the night lasted it's longest, the drawer of kitchen knives began to look tempting to him. The knife shimmered in the moonlight as he rotated it in his hand and he carried it to the bathroom. The black hole swallowed him whole, finally. This was what he deserved. The rest of the night was a blur to him. He heard his mother's cries, Dotty's snaps of apparition, and several other voices.

"That's my son, save him, for Merlin's sake, save him!"

"Drink this, Malfoy. Swallow it. That's it."

"Come on, Malfoy. Stay awake for a little bit longer. You're not dying tonight, I'm not letting you."

"He lost a lot of blood, Mr. Potter. He's lucky you got to him when you did."

"Draco, my boy, I love you."

He woke in St. Mungo's, with his mother by his side and Aurors outside his door. After a week, he was sent back to the stupid Muggle house. While he got better, that emptiness never left him. He spent more time outside of his room; exploring the small library his house possessed, learning about Dotty's life and family, talking to his mother daily.

On one afternoon when he sat in the library completely immersed in the universe that this Muggle Shakespeare author created, he heard a strange noise. It wouldn't stop, it was quite an annoying ring. He searched his house, following this sound. The sound came from this weird Muggle item on the kitchen counter that was connected to the wall by a cord. It had a handle with a spiral cord connecting it to a small black box with buttons on it. He picked up the handle and the annoying ringing stopped, thankfully. He heard noise coming from the handle so he put it to his ear.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Confused, he replied "Um, yes. I'm here."

"Draco Malfoy?"

He brought it away from his head and looked at the handle, what the fuck was this?

"Yes, this is Draco Malfoy. Who... who is this?"

"Draco, this is Kingsley Shacklebolt. I'm the Director of the Ministry of Magic. I wanted to inform you that I, along with some others, will be coming to your house today to inform you of an opportunity for people like you; those on probation."

"Okay," he was still so confused about how this little machine worked, "May I ask what time?"

"In about 20 or 30 minutes. I'll see you then."

"Okay." Suddenly the handle went quiet. He put down the handle back on the machine.

A group of wizards arrived at his house and offered him and his mother positions at the Ministry of Magic, as part of a new program they planned to launch for those on probation. It was their opportunity to integrate back into society as well as lessen his probation sentence from a year to 6 months.

While this excited Draco, he couldn't help but feel scared. He didn't have a place in this new society, he knew no one would accept him. His family were the closest to the Dark Lord, and everyone knew it. Despite this, he accepted, wanting a purpose in life. His mother, on the other hand, declined, needing more time to adjust to the life they were given. It seemed she enjoyed it, being magic-less and Muggle-like. She knew he needed this, however. "It's okay, Draco. I'll be here, I always will be."

He found himself alongside his former best friend with sweaty hands and a loud beating heart. He and Blaise caught up in Kingsley Shacklebolt's office before Kingsley joined them and told them what was expected of them.

As they were finishing up, the door opened with force and a certain witch walked in. "What's the purpose of this, Kingsley?"

He could've recognized that voice anywhere. She looked more mature, and her figure had filled out into a more womanly shape. Her hair was more tame that it had been, and she talked with more fire than before if that was even possible. She was fucking beautiful. A Shakespeare quote instantly intruded his brain, Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. And it was true.

She looked at him, and he instantly looked away. Looking at anything except her. Awkward, scared, confused, excited, embarrassed. All the emotions that were sucked from him were spit out from the black hole and given back, all at once.

He memorized her during those few seconds he did look at her. That night while he lied in bed, she never left his mind. Complete natural beauty was always hard to come by, but Hermione Granger carried it all and more. To him, she was the human embodiment of every sonnet that Shakespeare wrote of true beauty. Merlin, she was even more. There was nothing and no one that compared to her. She was more than a summer's day. She was all the stars and all the planets that the universe held perfectly in place. To him, she was the universe.

But he wasn't the one she belonged with. He didn't deserve to gander upon her. She was too beautiful, too pure, too fucking good for him as she always was. To his very core he understood this.

When he was sent to work for her, he grew nervous, upset, and above all, he was scared. The wall he still upheld was now used to hide the feelings he felt toward Hermione. He acted cold, bored, and distant. She was his superior and that was that. Maybe he'd work here for a little while to get back on his feet, and later on he'd be able to carry out the rest of his life in a different field. This was temporary, and he was not to get attached.

As they worked together, he never looked her in the eye. He kept his distance and worked on the topics she'd given him on his own. Her work was fascinating, and he grew a personal passion for it since befriending his house elf, Dotty. He worked day and night, finally having a purpose again. He was going to help the Golden witch free these elves if it was the last thing he ever did.

But when she suggested they work more closely together, his wall began to fall down brick by brick. Conversing with him as if nothing had happened, the War, the bullying. She seemed almost forgiving of him, actually giving him another chance. They worked surprisingly well together, able to bounce ideas and opinions off of each other like table tennis.

He almost forgot what he felt like before, he forgot what it was like to feel empty. Because Hermione filled him with wonder, fascination, and motivation. He was excited to wake up and see her face. His wall was almost completely broken down.

Then he found himself, inches away from the face he'd dreamed of. He was drunk off of her scent, swimming in the pools of caramel that were her eyes. Her skin was so soft, her lips looked inviting. Everything he felt since he was young led up to this moment, he wanted to show her he loved her. He wanted his lips to fall onto hers and he never wanted this moment to end. As he was leaning in, she didn't stop him. She didn't stop him!

As his luck would have it, an owl crashed into the window of her office and in an instant, the moment was over. He looked at the window and Weasleby's stupid owl was waiting with a letter in its beak. Of course, he thought. How fucking stupid of him. He didn't deserve her. A war criminal was all he'd ever be.

He ran. Out of her office, out of the Ministry; back to his house and before his mother could finish her sentence he'd locked himself in his room.

How could he be so fucking stupid. He'd never deserve her. She would never accept him, he was only a colleague to her. She had the Weasel, she didn't fucking need him. No one needed him. Those feelings that she had made him forget over the little time they worked together all came flooding back. He didn't deserve this life.

He would leave in the mornings so his mother wouldn't worry, snuck back in, and wasted his days once again staring out his window. Around the time he had once came home from work, he would get dressed and sneak outside through the window, and enter the house again through the door.

One day though, he couldn't leave his bed. The depression engulfed him and the black hole was back once again to swallow him whole. The darkness he felt when he was tasked with murder flowed through his veins once again. He was nothing. And he deserved it and he was ready to meet his fate.

The life he thought he could have was a lie he created in his head. He was lying to himself this whole time. How stupid, how fucking stupid.

He looked over at his nightstand and found a clock. 8:56 am, it read. He unplugged it and stood from his bed, looking over to his closet at the hanger rod with the clock cord in hand.

He was right ready to end it all, end all this suffering and lies. Then his door burst open and that bloody Potter walked through. He saw red, and once again it was all a blur.

"Don't fucking try, Potter. It's done. I don't deserve anything."

"Draco, my love, put the bloody cord down!"

"Malfoy, everything is okay. Just calm down."

"Fuck off and let me do this. I can't take this anymore."

"Stay the fuck back!"

"Let's take a walk, Malfoy"

"I don't want to take a bloody walk."

He was petrified and was suddenly in St. Mungo's once again.

His mother would visit, he would have healing Aurors work on his mind, and Potter would drop in once and a while.

He felt numb to it all. No emotions, no thoughts. He felt better but still the same all at once. He would have group meetings, he would have therapy, and he joined others in the psychiatric ward during free hours. He was okay again, but still recovering.

After weeks of the same routine, he opened his door to see a brown-haired witch that held a worried look on her face. His wall was built tall again and acted as though nothing were wrong.

She was still beautiful, beautiful as ever. But she was with the Weasel and he told himself to stay at a distance.

His desk was where he found himself after she left. After he snapped on her. His heart was beating and he held back tears. Because he wanted to confide in her so badly, more than anything. But he couldn't burden her with everything he was feeling. She didn't need that, no matter how much she wanted to know if he was really okay.

She needed to go back to her life. Her life was fine, she didn't need to worry about him. He would figure it out, or he hoped he would. The S.P.E.W. was what she needed to focus on, not him, not what had happened. Not anything regarding him. She was better off without him, and she should stay that way, no matter how how much he loved her.