Hours had passed.
00000
"I was never...good enough...for you. Fuck you! I hate you- I HATE you! I renounce you!"
Tears were streaming down Draco's face; in the throes of delirium, he lacked the self-control that would normally have kept them tightly in check.
"I hate you, I hate you...get off me, let me go...Hermione!"
It had gone on like this for a good part of the night, ever since Dumbledore had managed to lift the curse Draco had been suffering under; he had triumphed over the malign magic just when all hope had appeared to be lost, but Draco had been left weak, virtually without magic of his own (still, no one could understand how he had exhausted his own supply)- a magic transfusion from Snape had been required to give him the means to successfully fight the curse- and very, very sick. Since Dumbledore had left the room, nearly stumbling with fatigue and looking every one of his many, many years of age, Snape had been restraining the delirious Draco and forcing water into him at hourly intervals, until they were both exhausted and the fight finally went out of the former Slytherin.
Though his body ached from the constant struggle, Snape was anything but relieved by the state Draco fell into then; he looked more than half-dead, all further attempts to revive him failed, and the potions master was certain, with a feeling of cold dread deep in his heart, that the silver haired boy was slipping away.
00000
In another private room off the main hospital ward, Harry and Hermione had been sleeping curled together, deriving what comfort they could from one another's presence in the wake of their best friend's death, which had shattered their world.
00000
Hermione, of course, woke up screaming.
And, considering the nature of her nightmare, it did not help matters at all that a disoriented, half-asleep Harry had rolled on top of her and was pinning her down in a severely misguided effort to curtail her frantic flailing. He was also shouting her name, but as deeply distraught as she was, her eyes screwed shut and her mind still halfway caught in her dream, his voice, his words, failed to register. Only his presence- his strong, male presence on top of her, pushing her down into the bed, immobilizing her, filled her awareness and drove her into absolute hysterics.
"No! No! NOOO!" she was screaming, to Harry's horror; "Not again, PLEASE not again, I can't take any more, I want to die! God, let me DIE! Get- get OFF of me, get AWAY, you're not Draco, you're not, you're NOT-"
"HERMIONE!!" Harry gave her a single rough shake. Even this probably would not have been enough to snap her out of it, except that her head hit the headboard, hard, causing her eyes to fly open at last as she gasped in surprise and pain. They locked onto his and he watched the recognition flood into them, even as her mouth kept forming the words, "not Draco...not...Draco!"
"Hermione," he said, more quietly this time, shifting his weight off her, "it was a nightmare. Just a nightmare. We're in the infirmary, remember? You're safe."
"Huh- Harry...?"
"Yes. Yes, love. It's me."
"Oh God. Harry. Oh, my God. I can't take this. I can't sleep. I can't close my eyes...without seeing..."
"What?" he whispered, smoothing her sleep rumpled hair back from her face; "what do you see?"
"Draco...Lucius...Draco...oh, God! It's gonna drive me mad! He...he knew it would, and it will- Harry, it will!"
She was nearly incoherent in her distress; Harry found himself utterly unable to follow her fractured train of thought. But her eyes; her eyes were scaring the hell out of him. They were dry- she had cried so long and hard before falling asleep that it seemed as if, for the time being anyway, she had no tears left- but in them he saw a hurt so deep, a fear so profound, that it did almost appear, as she had said, to border on madness.
"He knew it," she repeated; "he knew, he knew what it would do to me! God, Harry, what if I can never get past this, even...even if Draco lives, every time I look at him I'll see... oh, it's going to tear us APART!"
"Hermione." Harry caught her face gently between his hands. "I'm not following you. Surely you're not saying that Draco hurt you?"
"No! Not Draco- never Draco. I kept telling myself and...and telling myself... that Draco would never- would n-... it was Lucius, it was always Lucius, but God, Harry, the way he looked- and sounded- it was like he was raping my MIND!"
Harry just stared at her, aghast, trying to process what she was saying. Although he had not the slightest idea of exactly what had happened to Hermione during her captivity- Lucius' actions toward her had been far too depraved for Harry to even begin to imagine them- he was starting to get an understanding that whatever she had endured had been bad. Very, VERY bad.
"God, Hermione," he murmured, more, it seemed, to himself than to her, "what did that incredible bastard do to you?"
She didn't reply.
She just stared up at him with those haunted, panicked eyes for a long moment, then blurted, "I don't- I- can't... I...need to... um, check on Draco."
And bolted from the bed, and the room.
00000
Hermione approached Draco's room- at least, she was reasonably sure that it was Draco's room due to the sign posted on the door: "Room Occupied, Quiet Please"- on bare, silent feet. She paused in front of it, her heart racing in her chest with fear- the residual panicky fear from her dream combined with a more rational fear stemming from just how badly off Draco had been the last time she'd seen him, being carried out of her own room by Snape.
She took a deep breath and slowly, terrified of what she would see, pushed open the door and stepped inside. It was a small, sparse, white room, exactly like the one she had just left, except that this room contained only one bed, on which lay-
Draco. Oh, Draco.
She wouldn't have believed that it was possible for him to look worse than he had after the confrontation with Voldemort the previous year- but he did. The sheets and blankets were tangled as though he had recently been thrashing about- but he wasn't moving now. He barely seemed to be breathing. His skin was ashen, his closed eyes set into bluish hollows, his silver hair lack-luster. His face, even in sleep, or unconsciousness, or whatever state he was in, was taut with pain.
In a chair beside the bed sat Snape, arms crossed tightly over his chest, appearing almost to be hugging himself, perhaps in a futile effort at self- comfort. His head was turned to the side, and Hermione saw that he was asleep with his chin on his shoulder. Even as he slept, his face was haggard with worry and guilt.
She took Snape's appearance in quickly, then her attention returned fully to Draco. Her love. Her fiancé. Still fighting for his life; that much was patently obvious. Still at death's door.
"Draco." Her voice came out in a choked whisper as she crossed the room and sank down on the edge of his bed. "Oh, no."
Conscious thought flew out the window and instinct took command as she leaned close over him, until their foreheads were nearly touching. Her masses of thick, dark hair fell down around them, creating a small, secret space, just as it had when she had bent over his dangerously flickering wand. Only now it was his face itself that she was desperately searching for signs of life.
"Dracodraco," she whispered, her breath bursting warm upon his still face, "come back. I love you and you're safe now and you promised...you wouldn't leave me...you PROMISED and so it's time to come back. Can you hear me? I need you and I'm calling you back. Draco?"
His brow furrowed at her words, as though he heard her, and he swallowed and parted his dry lips. She ran her thumb gently over them. "I love you," she breathed. Then, scooting down a little on the bed, she laid her head down on his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath her- barely, just barely- and allowed silent tears to leak from her eyes and soak the soft white shirt he was now wearing, unaware that Snape had awoken, discovered her presence, thought of sending her back to her room, and then reconsidered, deciding that if anything could bring Draco back now, it was only her love.
"You once said," she whispered brokenly, "that you were a man of your word. Well, you promised me it was over and that you'd never leave me again, and I intend to hold you to that promise, Draco Malfoy! Don't you dare go where I can't follow you!"
Her hands balled into fists there on his chest, clutching the material of his shirt, as she fought down a sudden, irrational impulse to pummel him, shake him, scream at him, slap him; anything to cause those gray-blue eyes to open.
And then she felt it; the tiniest ghost of a touch on her back.
She raised her head and immediately the pressure on her back increased. Turning slightly, she saw that what she had barely dared to hope was true; Draco had indeed curled an arm protectively about her.
"Draco!" she cried. Pulling herself up along the length of his body until her face once again hovered over his, she bent and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. His eyes remained closed, but one corner of his lip twitched upward, into a tiny, lopsided smile.
"Hey," he whispered in a raw, cracked voice.
A single traitorous sob escaped her before she could prevent it. Draco's half-smile vanished and now his eyes did crack open; a pain-dulled slate gray.
"My-nee," he croaked, sliding his hand up her back until it was buried in her hair, "m'sry." His brow furrowed and he shook his head then, frustrated by his apparent inability to form simple, familiar words. (Well- familiar in theory, anyway, if not in practice- he had very rarely ever said 'I'm sorry' before to anyone... but it still should have come out easier than this.) "Suh...s'rry," he tried again. "I'm sorry."
"Don't waste your strength being sorry!" she cried. "Just get better, Malfoy, that's all I care about now."
"Won't leave you," he whispered. "Keep my promises." Then- "water?"
"Water," she echoed distractedly, "yes. Yes, of course. Hold on, love. I'll get you some water."
She started to straighten up, but found herself held firm by Draco's hand, which had fetched up at the base of her neck.
"No," he rasped, "don't go."
"But," she said, puzzled, "you said you wanted water-"
"Want you more. Don't go."
"Draco, stop being-"
"Miss Granger," said a low voice beside her, causing her to start. She had forgotten all about Snape's presence in the room. She looked over and saw the potions master holding a glass of water out toward her. He gave her a small, weary smile and indicated, with a tilt of his head, a pitcher standing on the nightstand.
"Professor," she murmured. "Thank you."
She took the glass, then returned her attention to her fiancé. "I've got your water, love," she said. "Can you raise you head?"
His eyes fell shut once more and a look of concentration came over his face for a moment. Then, "no," he whispered in a small, lost voice.
"It's okay," she half-sobbed. "That's just fine, don't worry about it." She slipped a hand gently beneath his head, feeling his hair slide through her fingers like damp silk, and raised it a couple of inches off the pillow. Holding the glass to his lips, she whispered, "drink."
He tried to obey, but as weak and uncoordinated as he was, more water ended up out then in, mingling with her tears to further soak his shirt. Hermione felt her heart twist within her. Seeing the man she loved in a state of such profound helplessness that he couldn't even raise his head or drink a glass of water held against his lips was...it was more than painful. It was killing her. She honestly didn't know how she could survive Ron's death, the horrors she had endured, and now this- being forced to watch Draco suffer so.
She eased his head back onto the pillow; his eyes did not open again. Laying her own head beside his, she stayed with him until his breathing evened out and the hand at the base of her neck first relaxed its hold, then fell away, to trail over the edge of the bed. She took it in her own, planted a kiss on it, then folded it over his chest and straightened up, intending to ask Snape about the dangerously flickering wand. She had to know what to expect; no matter how bad the answer was, it was preferable to the agony of not knowing.
But she sat up too fast, and, still being far from entirely well herself, swayed dangerously, nearly slipping of the edge of the bed. Snape was at her elbow immediately.
"Miss Granger, I must insist you return to your own bed at once. You are not well."
"But Draco-"
"No buts, Hermione. I insist. Bed. Now."
"But I HAVE to know-"
Snape sighed. "Until you came in, I wasn't sure if he'd make it. Now I believe that he will live. But I refuse to go into any more detail with you at the moment; not when it is obvious that you are in dire need of rest and recuperation yourself. I'm not going to say this again, Miss Granger- Go. To. Bed."
Hermione took one last, lingering look at Draco, swallowed hard, and nodded. She was too exhausted and numbed by grief and suffering- her own and that of the people she loved most; Draco- Harry- to argue further. Standing slowly, carefully, she shrugged off Snape's offer of assistance and made her way back to her own room and bed.
Harry was asleep again. And how he needed it. She knew he was still hurting too. That was to say, physically hurting- not just the constant, empty ache that would be a permanent part of his soul- and her own- now Ron was dead. After all, when she had seen Harry on that floating stretcher earlier, he had been just as close to death as Draco was now. The thought of how close she had come to losing all three of the men she cared most about- and entirely because of her own stupidity in letting herself get caught- caused a wave of nausea to roll over her. Fighting it back with some difficulty, more because she didn't want any resultant retching to wake Harry than for any other reason, she collapsed into her own bed without a sound and immediately fell into a doze- but not a true sleep, because something was nagging at the very edge of her mind.
She came back to full awareness with a jolt a mere ten minutes later as she realized what it was; Draco's wand. She wanted- NEEDED- to keep it with her, to hold it, at all times, even when sleeping, to watch over it until Draco was well enough to take it back, to safeguard its dim, flickering light. Rationally, she knew this was silly; like a child with a favorite stuffed animal, but she also knew, deep down and beyond the shadow of a doubt, that she would not sleep peacefully without her love's wand in her hand. Sleepily, she reached behind herself and groped for it on the nightstand, a tiny sigh escaping her lips as her fingers closed around its smooth, somehow comforting length.
She was already drifting off again, the wand held tightly in her hand and snuggled under her pillow, when it occurred to her that she hadn't bothered to check its light. After all, Snape had said that he hadn't been sure before, but now felt that Draco would most likely live. Perhaps the wand would be shining steadily now, confirming Snape's prognosis. Pulling it out, she held it before her eyes and looked at it closely-
And sat up, her heart suddenly slamming painfully against her ribcage, feeling as though a bucket of ice water had just been poured over her.
The wand had gone out.
She made a small, strangled sound without being aware of doing so, bringing the wand closer still to her eyes- there was no light to be seen, flickering or otherwise. The room was dark, the only illumination coming from Harry's wand which still lay on the nightstand- her own was lost, taken by Lucius- she never expected to see it again. If Draco's wand had offered up even the faintest shimmer, it should have been visible to her. There was nothing.
The tiny "no!" that escaped her then was more a forcible expulsion of air from her lungs than an actual word. Getting a grip- barely- on her rising panic, which was threatening to spin entirely out of control, she swallowed past the sudden enormous lump in her throat and whispered "Lumos."
Still nothing.
"No. LumosLumosLUMOS!"
Nothing.
Her shriek of pure, soul-deep agony ripped through the hospital wing.
00000
"I was never...good enough...for you. Fuck you! I hate you- I HATE you! I renounce you!"
Tears were streaming down Draco's face; in the throes of delirium, he lacked the self-control that would normally have kept them tightly in check.
"I hate you, I hate you...get off me, let me go...Hermione!"
It had gone on like this for a good part of the night, ever since Dumbledore had managed to lift the curse Draco had been suffering under; he had triumphed over the malign magic just when all hope had appeared to be lost, but Draco had been left weak, virtually without magic of his own (still, no one could understand how he had exhausted his own supply)- a magic transfusion from Snape had been required to give him the means to successfully fight the curse- and very, very sick. Since Dumbledore had left the room, nearly stumbling with fatigue and looking every one of his many, many years of age, Snape had been restraining the delirious Draco and forcing water into him at hourly intervals, until they were both exhausted and the fight finally went out of the former Slytherin.
Though his body ached from the constant struggle, Snape was anything but relieved by the state Draco fell into then; he looked more than half-dead, all further attempts to revive him failed, and the potions master was certain, with a feeling of cold dread deep in his heart, that the silver haired boy was slipping away.
00000
In another private room off the main hospital ward, Harry and Hermione had been sleeping curled together, deriving what comfort they could from one another's presence in the wake of their best friend's death, which had shattered their world.
00000
Hermione, of course, woke up screaming.
And, considering the nature of her nightmare, it did not help matters at all that a disoriented, half-asleep Harry had rolled on top of her and was pinning her down in a severely misguided effort to curtail her frantic flailing. He was also shouting her name, but as deeply distraught as she was, her eyes screwed shut and her mind still halfway caught in her dream, his voice, his words, failed to register. Only his presence- his strong, male presence on top of her, pushing her down into the bed, immobilizing her, filled her awareness and drove her into absolute hysterics.
"No! No! NOOO!" she was screaming, to Harry's horror; "Not again, PLEASE not again, I can't take any more, I want to die! God, let me DIE! Get- get OFF of me, get AWAY, you're not Draco, you're not, you're NOT-"
"HERMIONE!!" Harry gave her a single rough shake. Even this probably would not have been enough to snap her out of it, except that her head hit the headboard, hard, causing her eyes to fly open at last as she gasped in surprise and pain. They locked onto his and he watched the recognition flood into them, even as her mouth kept forming the words, "not Draco...not...Draco!"
"Hermione," he said, more quietly this time, shifting his weight off her, "it was a nightmare. Just a nightmare. We're in the infirmary, remember? You're safe."
"Huh- Harry...?"
"Yes. Yes, love. It's me."
"Oh God. Harry. Oh, my God. I can't take this. I can't sleep. I can't close my eyes...without seeing..."
"What?" he whispered, smoothing her sleep rumpled hair back from her face; "what do you see?"
"Draco...Lucius...Draco...oh, God! It's gonna drive me mad! He...he knew it would, and it will- Harry, it will!"
She was nearly incoherent in her distress; Harry found himself utterly unable to follow her fractured train of thought. But her eyes; her eyes were scaring the hell out of him. They were dry- she had cried so long and hard before falling asleep that it seemed as if, for the time being anyway, she had no tears left- but in them he saw a hurt so deep, a fear so profound, that it did almost appear, as she had said, to border on madness.
"He knew it," she repeated; "he knew, he knew what it would do to me! God, Harry, what if I can never get past this, even...even if Draco lives, every time I look at him I'll see... oh, it's going to tear us APART!"
"Hermione." Harry caught her face gently between his hands. "I'm not following you. Surely you're not saying that Draco hurt you?"
"No! Not Draco- never Draco. I kept telling myself and...and telling myself... that Draco would never- would n-... it was Lucius, it was always Lucius, but God, Harry, the way he looked- and sounded- it was like he was raping my MIND!"
Harry just stared at her, aghast, trying to process what she was saying. Although he had not the slightest idea of exactly what had happened to Hermione during her captivity- Lucius' actions toward her had been far too depraved for Harry to even begin to imagine them- he was starting to get an understanding that whatever she had endured had been bad. Very, VERY bad.
"God, Hermione," he murmured, more, it seemed, to himself than to her, "what did that incredible bastard do to you?"
She didn't reply.
She just stared up at him with those haunted, panicked eyes for a long moment, then blurted, "I don't- I- can't... I...need to... um, check on Draco."
And bolted from the bed, and the room.
00000
Hermione approached Draco's room- at least, she was reasonably sure that it was Draco's room due to the sign posted on the door: "Room Occupied, Quiet Please"- on bare, silent feet. She paused in front of it, her heart racing in her chest with fear- the residual panicky fear from her dream combined with a more rational fear stemming from just how badly off Draco had been the last time she'd seen him, being carried out of her own room by Snape.
She took a deep breath and slowly, terrified of what she would see, pushed open the door and stepped inside. It was a small, sparse, white room, exactly like the one she had just left, except that this room contained only one bed, on which lay-
Draco. Oh, Draco.
She wouldn't have believed that it was possible for him to look worse than he had after the confrontation with Voldemort the previous year- but he did. The sheets and blankets were tangled as though he had recently been thrashing about- but he wasn't moving now. He barely seemed to be breathing. His skin was ashen, his closed eyes set into bluish hollows, his silver hair lack-luster. His face, even in sleep, or unconsciousness, or whatever state he was in, was taut with pain.
In a chair beside the bed sat Snape, arms crossed tightly over his chest, appearing almost to be hugging himself, perhaps in a futile effort at self- comfort. His head was turned to the side, and Hermione saw that he was asleep with his chin on his shoulder. Even as he slept, his face was haggard with worry and guilt.
She took Snape's appearance in quickly, then her attention returned fully to Draco. Her love. Her fiancé. Still fighting for his life; that much was patently obvious. Still at death's door.
"Draco." Her voice came out in a choked whisper as she crossed the room and sank down on the edge of his bed. "Oh, no."
Conscious thought flew out the window and instinct took command as she leaned close over him, until their foreheads were nearly touching. Her masses of thick, dark hair fell down around them, creating a small, secret space, just as it had when she had bent over his dangerously flickering wand. Only now it was his face itself that she was desperately searching for signs of life.
"Dracodraco," she whispered, her breath bursting warm upon his still face, "come back. I love you and you're safe now and you promised...you wouldn't leave me...you PROMISED and so it's time to come back. Can you hear me? I need you and I'm calling you back. Draco?"
His brow furrowed at her words, as though he heard her, and he swallowed and parted his dry lips. She ran her thumb gently over them. "I love you," she breathed. Then, scooting down a little on the bed, she laid her head down on his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath her- barely, just barely- and allowed silent tears to leak from her eyes and soak the soft white shirt he was now wearing, unaware that Snape had awoken, discovered her presence, thought of sending her back to her room, and then reconsidered, deciding that if anything could bring Draco back now, it was only her love.
"You once said," she whispered brokenly, "that you were a man of your word. Well, you promised me it was over and that you'd never leave me again, and I intend to hold you to that promise, Draco Malfoy! Don't you dare go where I can't follow you!"
Her hands balled into fists there on his chest, clutching the material of his shirt, as she fought down a sudden, irrational impulse to pummel him, shake him, scream at him, slap him; anything to cause those gray-blue eyes to open.
And then she felt it; the tiniest ghost of a touch on her back.
She raised her head and immediately the pressure on her back increased. Turning slightly, she saw that what she had barely dared to hope was true; Draco had indeed curled an arm protectively about her.
"Draco!" she cried. Pulling herself up along the length of his body until her face once again hovered over his, she bent and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. His eyes remained closed, but one corner of his lip twitched upward, into a tiny, lopsided smile.
"Hey," he whispered in a raw, cracked voice.
A single traitorous sob escaped her before she could prevent it. Draco's half-smile vanished and now his eyes did crack open; a pain-dulled slate gray.
"My-nee," he croaked, sliding his hand up her back until it was buried in her hair, "m'sry." His brow furrowed and he shook his head then, frustrated by his apparent inability to form simple, familiar words. (Well- familiar in theory, anyway, if not in practice- he had very rarely ever said 'I'm sorry' before to anyone... but it still should have come out easier than this.) "Suh...s'rry," he tried again. "I'm sorry."
"Don't waste your strength being sorry!" she cried. "Just get better, Malfoy, that's all I care about now."
"Won't leave you," he whispered. "Keep my promises." Then- "water?"
"Water," she echoed distractedly, "yes. Yes, of course. Hold on, love. I'll get you some water."
She started to straighten up, but found herself held firm by Draco's hand, which had fetched up at the base of her neck.
"No," he rasped, "don't go."
"But," she said, puzzled, "you said you wanted water-"
"Want you more. Don't go."
"Draco, stop being-"
"Miss Granger," said a low voice beside her, causing her to start. She had forgotten all about Snape's presence in the room. She looked over and saw the potions master holding a glass of water out toward her. He gave her a small, weary smile and indicated, with a tilt of his head, a pitcher standing on the nightstand.
"Professor," she murmured. "Thank you."
She took the glass, then returned her attention to her fiancé. "I've got your water, love," she said. "Can you raise you head?"
His eyes fell shut once more and a look of concentration came over his face for a moment. Then, "no," he whispered in a small, lost voice.
"It's okay," she half-sobbed. "That's just fine, don't worry about it." She slipped a hand gently beneath his head, feeling his hair slide through her fingers like damp silk, and raised it a couple of inches off the pillow. Holding the glass to his lips, she whispered, "drink."
He tried to obey, but as weak and uncoordinated as he was, more water ended up out then in, mingling with her tears to further soak his shirt. Hermione felt her heart twist within her. Seeing the man she loved in a state of such profound helplessness that he couldn't even raise his head or drink a glass of water held against his lips was...it was more than painful. It was killing her. She honestly didn't know how she could survive Ron's death, the horrors she had endured, and now this- being forced to watch Draco suffer so.
She eased his head back onto the pillow; his eyes did not open again. Laying her own head beside his, she stayed with him until his breathing evened out and the hand at the base of her neck first relaxed its hold, then fell away, to trail over the edge of the bed. She took it in her own, planted a kiss on it, then folded it over his chest and straightened up, intending to ask Snape about the dangerously flickering wand. She had to know what to expect; no matter how bad the answer was, it was preferable to the agony of not knowing.
But she sat up too fast, and, still being far from entirely well herself, swayed dangerously, nearly slipping of the edge of the bed. Snape was at her elbow immediately.
"Miss Granger, I must insist you return to your own bed at once. You are not well."
"But Draco-"
"No buts, Hermione. I insist. Bed. Now."
"But I HAVE to know-"
Snape sighed. "Until you came in, I wasn't sure if he'd make it. Now I believe that he will live. But I refuse to go into any more detail with you at the moment; not when it is obvious that you are in dire need of rest and recuperation yourself. I'm not going to say this again, Miss Granger- Go. To. Bed."
Hermione took one last, lingering look at Draco, swallowed hard, and nodded. She was too exhausted and numbed by grief and suffering- her own and that of the people she loved most; Draco- Harry- to argue further. Standing slowly, carefully, she shrugged off Snape's offer of assistance and made her way back to her own room and bed.
Harry was asleep again. And how he needed it. She knew he was still hurting too. That was to say, physically hurting- not just the constant, empty ache that would be a permanent part of his soul- and her own- now Ron was dead. After all, when she had seen Harry on that floating stretcher earlier, he had been just as close to death as Draco was now. The thought of how close she had come to losing all three of the men she cared most about- and entirely because of her own stupidity in letting herself get caught- caused a wave of nausea to roll over her. Fighting it back with some difficulty, more because she didn't want any resultant retching to wake Harry than for any other reason, she collapsed into her own bed without a sound and immediately fell into a doze- but not a true sleep, because something was nagging at the very edge of her mind.
She came back to full awareness with a jolt a mere ten minutes later as she realized what it was; Draco's wand. She wanted- NEEDED- to keep it with her, to hold it, at all times, even when sleeping, to watch over it until Draco was well enough to take it back, to safeguard its dim, flickering light. Rationally, she knew this was silly; like a child with a favorite stuffed animal, but she also knew, deep down and beyond the shadow of a doubt, that she would not sleep peacefully without her love's wand in her hand. Sleepily, she reached behind herself and groped for it on the nightstand, a tiny sigh escaping her lips as her fingers closed around its smooth, somehow comforting length.
She was already drifting off again, the wand held tightly in her hand and snuggled under her pillow, when it occurred to her that she hadn't bothered to check its light. After all, Snape had said that he hadn't been sure before, but now felt that Draco would most likely live. Perhaps the wand would be shining steadily now, confirming Snape's prognosis. Pulling it out, she held it before her eyes and looked at it closely-
And sat up, her heart suddenly slamming painfully against her ribcage, feeling as though a bucket of ice water had just been poured over her.
The wand had gone out.
She made a small, strangled sound without being aware of doing so, bringing the wand closer still to her eyes- there was no light to be seen, flickering or otherwise. The room was dark, the only illumination coming from Harry's wand which still lay on the nightstand- her own was lost, taken by Lucius- she never expected to see it again. If Draco's wand had offered up even the faintest shimmer, it should have been visible to her. There was nothing.
The tiny "no!" that escaped her then was more a forcible expulsion of air from her lungs than an actual word. Getting a grip- barely- on her rising panic, which was threatening to spin entirely out of control, she swallowed past the sudden enormous lump in her throat and whispered "Lumos."
Still nothing.
"No. LumosLumosLUMOS!"
Nothing.
Her shriek of pure, soul-deep agony ripped through the hospital wing.