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A Christmas Gift
Chapter Eight: Kiss of Light
Written By: Dizzy
Disclaimer: I own exactly bullocks.

Draco felt her slump into his arms, and he struggled to support her. Not again, please be all right. Thoughts whirled in his head as he scooped her up into his arms for what felt like the millionth time that day. He looked down at the girl. She was so pale, her skin milky-white, and it was more then just the moon and the night, her face was completely devoid of color, almost transparent, he could see faint blue veins under it. The skin under her eyes was dark like bruises. He clutched her too him, breathing in the scent of her hair.

"Thought I told you not to do that anymore Granger," he whispered. "You have to be all right okay? Don't leave me here alone." His eyes burned and for a moment he just stood there clutching the girl in his arms, trying to figure out what to do.

He began walking back in the direction of Hogwarts. There was no solution to this problem. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. So he would do whatever he could, keep her warm, feed her broth, do what they did in old books for people. It was just like that. Someone is dying and you're too ignorant of the ways of the world to do anything about it. People die simply because you don't know HOW to stop it. He did his best to wrap his cloak around her, but her weight against it made it impossible to unclasp without setting her down, and he refused to set her in the cold snow. So he just walked a little faster, his boots crunching on the ice, his breath coming out in quick, scared gasps.

And Draco had never really been scared of anything but his father in his whole life. He had never felt concern for anyone but his mother, and even then the concern was thin and obligatory. A son's love for his mother, something instilled from birth. It wasn't like this. He walked a little faster.

Using one hand he yanked the door to the large, looming building open, close to running now; as he made his way down long twisting corridors and up steep stairwells to the infirmary.

It was empty save for a distracted Madame Pomfrey, who was pouring over a book, still looking prim and proper even in her relaxed posed. He ignored her, going over to what had been established as Hermione's bed.

He gently removed her shoes and socks, marveling over the delicate nature of her feet, practically blue from the cold, her shoes were thin and impractical. He scowled at her form for a minute. How could she be so stupid? He pulled back the bed covering, laying her carefully on the mattress, pulling the blankets over her still form. She was still shivering.

He went to the next bed, wrenching off its bed clothes, then to the next. He laid both sets over the sleeping girl, tucking them all around her so she was nothing more then a shapeless bundle with a head.

She didn't move. She didn't wake. Not even the warmth was doing any good. He growled, his hand moving to her head. She was shivering, but her head was so hot, so bloody hot. He moved his hand down her cheek. She needed a compress. Turning he began to search the room, coming up with a small metal basin, but no cloth.

"Where's the bloody cloth?" He set the basin on the bed beside her, pulling things off shelves, digging through drawers. And there, mocking him was the one woman who could have helped him.

"WHERE'S THE BLOODY FUCKING CLOTH YOU USELESS OLD BAG." He screamed at the woman.

She turned a page.

Draco picked up a bottle of some reddish tint potion and chucked it full force at her. As he expected it passed right through the woman, shattering against the wall, rust colored liquid running down in streams. "HELP ME." He stormed over to the woman, using every bit of muscle he had to send the desk in front of her careening across the room. It hit the wall with a huge crack, one of the legs splintering, the desk leaning now at an odd angle. Madame Pomfrey simply turned a page.

"HELP ME YOU STUPID BINT." He wanted to shake her, to hit her, so he did, but he almost sent himself toppling over with the force of it as his hand passed right through her. "Help me." He said desperately. "Please, listen to me. HELP her."

Draco fell to his knees, his hands wanting to grab onto the woman's knees, they passed right through resting on the chair instead. "Please listen to me." He stared at the woman. Willing her to hear him, willing her to see him, to see the girl lying on the bed. "HELP ME." He pleaded. He felt the burning again and ignored it, his head falling forward. "Please help her."

If he had been looking for a miracle, or a response he got nothing. The woman simply turned down the corner of a page in her book, casting a glance to a clock on the wall, behind her. It was, as far as he could see, splattered in the blood red liquid from the bottle he had broken against the wall. But he knew it was clear to her, and quite late. She sighed, opening a drawer in midair and setting the book inside. She smoothed her habit, and left the room, casting not a glance to the pleading boy that had been at her feet, nor the dying girl lying pale and lifeless in one of her hospital beds. Draco had never placed faith in any God. And now he knew why.

It was many minutes before he managed to collect himself, his desperation and anger turning to determination. Malfoy's did not beg, they did not whine and lay on cold stone floors pleading. He stalked over to the bed, wrenching up the basin. He made his way to the sink, filling it with cold water, and then he removed his cloak. He quickly unbuttoned his white dress shirt, grabbing a pair of shears from a shelf against the wall. There was gauze, but no cloth. You'd think somewhere in this ruddy place there would be a wash cloth, he thought, disgusted. It only further convinced him that Hogwarts was an absolutely depraved place. He took the shears, cutting one of the sleeves off of his shirt, moving then to the buttons at the cuff, snapping them off as well. He set the shears back on the shelf, picking the basin up in one hand, bunching up the thick fabric of his shirt with the other. He made his way over the bed, setting the basin on a chair, dipping the cloth inside. He made his way back over to his cloak, drawing it around him, clasping it, his skin bare beneath, and then he set to wok.

He wrung out the cloth, damp from the water, and pressed it to her forehead. He had seen this done before. His mother was often feverish, but he didn't know if he was doing it right or not. It seemed a pretty simple thing. He continued to press it to her face, trying to cool her.

"Come on," he whispered to the girl. "Wake up." She gave him no response. Not even a groan. She just continued to shake from cold, her skin pale and beaded with sweat and moisture from the compress. He pressed it again to her face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "This is my fault." He was fairly sure he had never apologized sincerely for anything in his life. Not for anything that meant something anyway. "If I wasn't such an ass all the time then whoever did this wouldn't have cast that stupid spell." He went on, continuing to run the cloth over the girl's face, brushing damp strands of her hair away from it as he went. "I didn't mean for you to get involved." He said softly. "If you hadn't of been on that Quidditch Pitch you wouldn't be here." He dipped the cloth again, wringing it out in the cold water. "And if I hadn't of done something terrible to whoever did this we wouldn't be here." He looked at the girl, his eyes pleading; begging for the second time in his life. "You can't leave me here alone Hermione. Please don't leave me here alone."

"You called me Hermione," her eyes didn't open, but her lips moved, and the words, strained and soft came out.

"I've called your Hermione before."

He could barely contain his excitement. He set the cloth in the water, brushing her face with a calloused hand. He leaned closer. She still didn't open her eyes. She was too weak to do that. But at least she had spoken.

"But you never meant it before."

Draco felt something in his chest snap. His heart breaking he supposed. She sounded so sad, so weak.

"I mean it now," he whispered, leaning a bit closer. The girl didn't speak. She had slipped back into unconsciousness, slow shuddering breaths coming from her chest. He leaned closer. "And I'll mean it from now on. I promise. Just please be all right." He closed his eyes. Pressing his lips to hers, his heart clenching once more. With something he couldn't place.

With love. He realized then, kissing her, just how much he could love this girl. Just how much he did love her.

The light was blinding brilliance, it was everywhere. His eyes snapped open as it filled the room, making the objects and furniture in it fade, until there was nothing but he and the girl beneath him.

He felt his stomach pull forward, felt the ground fall out beneath him and wondered if this was where he was going to spend the rest of his life: trapped in a giant world of light.

He was still falling, faster and faster, wind burning his cheeks. He grabbed onto the girl, clutching her too him as they spun and twirled through the light.

The ground hit him hard, knocking the wind out of him, cold ground stinging his ears. He blinked dumbly. He tried to focus. There was a weight on his chest, something soft tickling his neck, and he couldn't breath.

"Draco?" Hermione pushed herself up, her hair falling down in a curtain about his face and neck.

"Getarf," he wheezed, trying to draw air into his lungs. Startled the girl rolled to the side into the snow.

The snow. Hermione looked around. They were on the Quidditch pitch, the goal posts looming up into gray sky, snow still falling lightly around them.

By her feet lay her bag.

"Draco we're back," she whispered, feeling right again for the first time in days.

"I know that," he just continued to lay there, trying to regain a sense of balance, trying to breath.

"Are you okay?" Her face loomed in front of him, her hair tickling his cheeks and ears.

"I could ask you the same question," he croaked. His back was killing him.

"I'm fine," she wiggled her fingers before his face, feeling the cold sink into her knees as she

knelt in the snow beside him. "We're back." She whispered joyfully.

"You said that already." He sat up, groaning slightly as every limb in his body protested. Obviously whirling through time and space was hell on your lower lumbar.

"But...how?" She looked up at him, proud. "You learned the lesson."

"I guess," he shrugged. "I still don't know what it was." Hermione shrugged, looking away. Draco looked at her, a smile, a real smile overtaking his features. She blushed.

"What?"

"It's just good to see you...looking like you." He whispered. He reached up, tucking a strand of chestnut hair behind an ear.

"It wasn't so bad." Hermione blurted. The boy blinked.

"What wasn't?"

"Being trapped there with you." She smiled back at him.

"Despite the near-death experience?" He grunted, standing.

"Yes. Despite the near-death experience." She stood as well, and before she knew what was happening he had pulled her into a crushing embrace, his arms sneaking around her waist, clutching at her back, one hand snaking into her hair.

"You really scared me there."

"I'm sorry." She smiled against his chest, breathing in the scent of him. "You really scared me too." Draco pulled back, regarding her with a raised eyebrow.

"No faith-" he shook his head, "-absolutely no faith." He reached down, picking up her bag, placing it on her shoulder, and then grabbed his broom which lay a few feet away.

"Come on. I'm sure everyone's worried sick about you," he put a hand to the small of her back, gently leading her to the building. Hermione smiled up at him.

"I can't believe we're back." Draco looked down at her, but it was a different look, a sad kind of look.

"Yeah. We're back."

TBC...

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