Remnants of Life

Disclaimer: The Characters aren't mine, only the Plot. Characters are from the mind of J.K. Rowling.

Rating: R

===Note===

Some angst driven romance in this chapter. Innocent stuff really since, well, I'm young and haven't dated in a while so I can't write smut. Heh. Enjoy. Review.

Chapter 9: Give Comfort, Give Pain

"Would you still have gone with them if you knew what was to come?" Hermione raised her head to look him in the eye. She noticed him flinch and purposefully avoid the contact. She regretted her question. It was unkind of her to ask. After all, what right did she have to judge?

They had been sitting together on the floor for some time now. Hermione had long stopped counting the seconds. Time didn't seem to exist at all as they rested in the quiet darkness. The house felt empty of any other life. The world outside felt dead; morbid and sorrowful. She had to reassure herself that wasn't actually the case. The lack of activity was due to the hour, not the looming evil. The muggle community was peaceful. She need not fear for them, only herself.

Hermione watched him bring a hand to his eyes to wipe away the exhaustion. She could tell how tired he had become by the way his lids were lowered and the subtle gestures his features made. She wondered why she herself was so wide awake.

"Yes," he replied calmly, "I think I would have gone regardless." He refused to look at her as he spoke the words. His eyes drifted to the window. He faced the glare of the moon full on rather than meet her gaze.

Hermione glanced away from him also as she considered his answer. What had she expected him to say after all? That he would willingly choose death? She realized then that his uncontainable desire to live was what kept him sane. He had chosen life that night and sealed his fate. There was to be no regret, only the desperate need to resume living at any cost.

What frightened her was not his answer, but what she herself would have done. Had she been offered the same choice, had she been forced to accept her own death or the deaths of those around her, what would she have chosen?

"You must really think me weak." Malfoy murmured, distracting her from the waging of inner conflict. His face was still turned from hers. Hermione wished he would return her gaze and therefore signify that he knew of her presence. She felt as if she was speaking with the empty shell of a person, hollow and lacking in feeling.

"You chose life." She replied passively. Her words held no joy or pain. They purposefully revealed nothing. His actions couldn't be judged when Hermione herself didn't know what she would have done in the same situation. The thought haunted her. Would I have chosen life? Self preservation came from instinct. She wondered if that was something she could have suppressed. It was ironic, she thought bitterly, just moments before she had considered ending life herself. Yet having it taken from you seemed an entirely different matter.

Malfoy gave a resentful chuckle. "Yes, and look where it got me." He shook his head in defeat. Hermione placed a hand over his in an attempt to soothe him.

"You speak as if there's nothing left. What happened to existence?" It was strange, she thought. When he first proposed the idea, she had been puzzled and unbelieving. It seemed naïve to presume existence itself could be their savior. She realized now that the statement brought her comfort. A shred of hope was preserved allowing her to believe it possible for their kind to rise once more. With that, she clung to the vague theory with a desperate sort of need.

Malfoy laughed at her again. Hermione flinched. The sound brought back memories of better years. There had been a time when his insults were of her major concerns.

"What's existence to me if this is my life now?" He demanded of her. She noticed the familiar spark in his eyes return. They glinted of silver and were beautiful in the moonlight. It was her old rival rising from the dead. He was taunting and testing her nerves just like he used to. His question was laced with the selfishness of the child Draco; the one she remembered. The thought made her smile.

Hermione ignored the questioning look she received at her suddenly changed expression. Moving forward quickly, she ceased further talk by pressing her lips against his. He was the past she had so longed to return to. He was a remnant of the years of happiness which had consumed her childhood. And with that realization, she clung to him for the life that had been snatched from her. Her kiss was forceful as she demanded he respond. Her actions were pleading. In her mind, Hermione saw herself on her knees, begging him to save her, begging for the past to be revived into a blissful future. If she willed it, perhaps her imagined hero could accomplish it all.

If only it was possible, reason nagged at her. She brushed it away, not wanting to listen. She had been reasonable for the majority of her life. Hermione realized now that it did her no good. Selfishly, she asked for him to wipe her slate clean; to make her forget past sorrows and believe there could be some happiness remaining.

Her hands wrapped around him and pulled him close. She listened to the shifting of his cloak. The silky fabric felt like liquid against her skin. Her fingers brushed against the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Stroking gentling, she willed him to allow her this small kindness. She didn't want to be reasonable. This would turn out differently from their last kiss, she told herself. Draco would gift her with comfort. They would provide each other with a momentary state of ignorance of the outside world. Nothing could harm them in this room, her sanctuary.

Hermione felt the pressure of his lips and realized he had agreed to help her. He had allowed himself to be her comfort and safety. A tear escaped her and rolled down her cheek. She felt it dip from her chin onto her forearm leaving a lingering cool dot.

Her hold was returned with equal force. His arms wrapped around her and she complied by providing no resistance. Their movements became desperate. More tears emerged from the corners of her eyes. It wasn't working. She couldn't push the pain away.

Imagined scenarios of how Harry died shifted at the edges of her consciousness. Hermione fought them. She used the taste of his lips as her weapon. She concentrated on their sweetness. She shut her eyes tightly to block the flow. It was a temporarily successful attempt. As much as it tore at her, she realized she needed to know. He was there when it happened, she thought to herself.

It couldn't be repressed. The sob rose in her throat and escaped from her mouth before she could contain it. The sound was noticed; Draco stopped.

His eyes were wide as he looked in wonder at her tears. "What's the matter?" He asked.

Hermione looked away towards the floor. She had ruined it. She had lost the battle with herself. It had seemed so simple an idea. She had been so close to what she needed most, consolation. Ignorance was bliss, and that had been all she sought. Why did she have to spoil it?

Malfoy reached out a hand and brushed away her trailing tears. She couldn't bear to look at him in this failed state. She was in pieces; a ruin of her previously brilliant self. Her hair became her curtain and cover. For once she was grateful for its bushy mess.

Hermione knew he was watching her and waiting for a response, but couldn't bring herself to provide one. What was the matter with her? She wanted to learn of Harry's death, yet she knew it was not something she could bear. She wanted him to tell her, yet she tried to pretend he had no part in it.

Her thoughts were in shambles and Hermione had not a clue of what she really desired.

"What's the matter?" He repeated, turning her face towards his.

Her lashes were lowered and she felt teardrops clinging to them, heavy and cold. "Tell me what happened." She asked finally, still refusing to look directly at him. Her voice was shaky and cracked. Hermione held her breathe as she waited for a response. There were doubts, and there was regret, but she needed to be told.

Malfoy drew back his hand as if it had been bitten. She heard him drop his head back against the wall in defeat. She wondered if his pain compared with hers.

He took several deep breathes. She listened with patience, wondering if he intended to answer. Perhaps she was being selfish once more. Perhaps he was trying to drown his sorrows the same as her.

Hermione sighed out loud. "Never mind, forget I asked." She struggled, trying to convince herself she didn't need to know; that it would do her more harm than good. Her fantasies pained her enough, what if the truth was worse? But just the fact that the knowledge was within grasp haunted her. A witness was sitting on her floor. How could she ignore the only chance she might have of learning how Harry died?

Hermione bit her lip to silence the rising questions. She was being selfish, she decided. Malfoy shouldn't be forced to discuss the event which tormented him. She had refused to speak to the Ministry of the night in the astronomy tower. He should be allowed the same choice.

"They wouldn't tell me where we were going." He began suddenly, startling her from her thoughts. "I knew what they intended to do though, at least part of it." Malfoy turned his head to look at her. His gaze was steady. "Of course the victim was a mystery until we arrived there."

He paused. Hermione noticed his jaw was clenched. She realized she never should have asked him to relive it.

"They were laughing; my father especially. He told me I'd enjoy this, with Potter being my old school enemy and all. I didn't realize till then who we'd been sent to kill."

Hermione broke the gaze. Her curtain of hair hid the tears she didn't want him to see. This had all been a mistake. She didn't want to hear anymore.

"We apparated in a shadowed area of the neighborhood and charmed open the backdoor." His voice became strained. Hermione shut her eyes tightly as if it would block out the words. All it did was allow her to imagine the events ever more clearly.

"There were muggles in the house. They were finished off first. My father said they didn't want any loose ends." His voice cracked. Hermione dared a glance and saw him with his eyes closed, his head leaning back against the wall.

"He was asleep when we found him. My father woke him up with the curse. I can still hear the screams."

A gasping sob escaped her and met the still air. Malfoy paused at the sound, allowing her a moment to contain herself. Hermione raised her head. Her gaze settled on the scattered pills on the floor by her bed. They looked so friendly.

"They didn't want to just kill him. They wanted to play with him first." He continued shakily. Hermione brought her hand to her mouth to silence her cries. I asked to hear this, she told herself repeatedly.

"So I watched them do it. I watched him screaming on the floor from the pain." His voice trailed off. He almost seemed to have forgotten she was there at all. "They urged me to join in. Their laughter... it still sounds in my head."

Hermione watched as he formed a fist; his hand clenched so tightly that his knuckles whitened.

"And then once they had their fun," He emphasized the word cruelly and bitterly. "They ended it. It was so quick. There was no fuss. He just... stopped moving."

The chilling pain at her core spread through her veins, numbing her senses. She couldn't feel the tears anymore as they dripped down her face. She couldn't hear Malfoy's ragged breathing beside her. The dark outlines of the pills attracted her. She longed for their smooth comfort.

Malfoy reached over and brushed away the hair in her face. Startled, Hermione turned back towards him. Captive in her trance, she had forgotten he was there. His features were empty. He had unloaded his sorrow on her. There seemed nothing left to say.

Leaning in, she kissed him softly before settling back and resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her in a protective hold. She listened to his steady breathing in the dark blanket of silence.

Unable to sleep, they remained that way until daylight leaked through the blinds and bestowed upon them its warm comfort. Rubbing weariness from her eyes, Hermione realized that time had not stopped after all. It had all been imagined. Nothing protected them in her sanctuary. They were as vulnerable there as anywhere else.

"What are you going to do now?" She asked tentatively. Her eyes flickered to his wand lying on the floor. He made no motion toward it.

"Go back, I suppose." Malfoy replied simply. It seemed too empty an answer. She wanted more from him.

"And what will happen then?" Hermione couldn't ask him directly what she really needed to know. It was too blunt, too brutal. And, she wasn't sure she could accept the answer.

Slowly, she watched him push himself to his feet. The light radiated around him almost glorifying the image. He dusted off his robes, even though there was no mark to be seen. She smiled to see that his haughty demeanor had not changed. Familiarity was an expected comfort.

"I'll tell them you're dead." Malfoy turned away from her and picked up his wand. Hermione studied his actions wordlessly. "If you don't perform any magic, I doubt they will have any way of knowing the truth." His voice was practical. She wondered why he couldn't give some sign that he cared.

Taking her silence for concession, Malfoy gave a grim smirk. He pointed his wand at himself and left as suddenly as he had come. He was gone before she could blink, and Hermione found the resulting solitude to be suffocating.

===Note===

It's funny how I can turn such a romantic moment into pure angst. This chapter took longer to write than the others. Editing took much longer also. Review for me please. I need some motivation to get the creativity going. Writers' block is so horrible.

Much love the the reviewers so far. I especially adore those of you who came back and review almost every chapter. =) I end up finishing chapters in single sittings because of you guys.

-Captive