Smiling she turned to go down the stairs, not noticing the small puddle left on the marble by the leaking ceiling. As her feet went out from under her, and her head approached the next stone stair the boy who had been watching her with envy in his eyes reached out his hands. He knew sickeningly that there was nothing to be done, nothing that could stop this horror from unfolding before his dumb-struck eyes.
The sickening thuds as her fragile body bounced and spun its way down the broad staircase echoed in his ears as he watched. The whole world watched. All unable to move or do anything to help the one person that they would have done most to save. As she finally settled at the bottom of the staircase in a heart-breakingly small and disjointed heap he felt his heart stall in his chest.
She wasn't moving. God help him, she wasn't moving. Was that… oh it was, it was. That wasn't his imagination. It was a puddle of red slowly spreading out from underneath her. Why wasn't anyone moving? Why wasn't anyone doing anything to help her? As if the world had suddenly caught up with itself, sound rushed back in a pop, and movement exploded throughout the large hall. Forcing himself to remain still, the boy remained on the landing, on the opposite side of the room to the stair, staring down at the scene below.
She was pale, and still as death with a small line of blood trickling from the side of her mouth, and the left side of her head drenched in the stuff. Her hair was weighed down and matted by it, and it dripped onto the floor as they carried her away. Still frozen to the spot, the boy remained looking down at the pool of blood for a long time after the procession had gone. Looking and feeling as though all the light had left the world.
It had been a long time since he had known that he was in love with her. The girl that ruled his world and the hearts of everybody that she knew. She was an angel that had for some reason unknown to him chosen to shed a speck of her light into his life. Some things are sent to challenge us, and she was his challenge. He had spent so many years fighting and losing, that when he had come to realise the truth it had been too late, and the damage had been done.
Sometimes, late at night, he lay awake remembering the things that he had said to her, and imagining her saying them to him. Maybe the pain that this caused him would be noticed somewhere and go towards paying back the debt that he owed. This wasn't entirely his fault, as he reassured himself when the pain got too much to bear; circumstances had conspired against him.
He had never loved before he had loved her, and sometimes he felt so much, so much of everything that he thought he would explode if he couldn't let some of it out. It was these days that he found the hardest to bear, sitting watching her and feeling so much that he practically crackled with energy and having nowhere for it to go. It was those days that he said the worst things to her, the things that he could never forgive himself for.
If she died… If she died. Had there ever been a thought more terrifying than that one? She wouldn't die, the boy shook himself slightly, there was no way that a person that good, with so much to give could die. Slowly and quietly he made his way to where she lay, silent and alone after all the others had left at the demands of the nurse. Breathing, still breathing, and for a second he stood listening to the sounds of her breath, letting it wash over him and calm him. He could almost hear her heart beating in time with his own. It was something that he was sure she was unaware of. One day, feeling his despair like no other day, he had cast a spell so that his heart would beat to the rhythm of hers. Sometimes, for no good reason his heart would speed up, and his eyes would seek her out to make sure that she was alright. It reassured him to feel a link in such a tangible way. If he had been braver, he might have gone the whole way, and made it so that if her heart stopped, his would too. It was only fear that it might somehow work the other way that had stilled his hand; although he could not live if she were dead, he knew that the opposite would not be true.
He scanned the room to make sure that nobody was around before reading the chart hung on the end of the bed. Eyes scanning quickly he was reassured by what he read. Minor bones broken, extensive bruising; nothing major physically wrong with her.
Sighing with relief he turned back to the bed, eyes scanning her face once more before leaving. Startled brown eyes gazed back at him.
"Wha… Where…?" She raised a hand to her head, wincing, then her eyes widened as comprehension dawned. The boy remained at the end of the bed, frozen by fear and longing.
"Did I… is there?"
"There's nothing major wrong. You'll be fine." His voice had a husky quality to it that was not normally present. "You worried a lot of people."
"Did it worry you?" Her eyes were quizzical, comprehension dawning behind them.
It was half in his mind to give a glib, offensive answer and run; to hide from what he had so successfully avoided over the past five years. Looking deep into her eyes, he knew that he couldn't, that she knew and denial was pointless.
"More than you can know." He turned to leave.
"Draco?" Her voice called out into the stillness of the Hospital Wing. Reluctantly he turned around again to see that she was struggling to pull herself into a seated position. His hatred of seeing her in pain made him rush to her side, to gently and tenderly lift her and arrange her pillows around her, to do the job that his arms longed to do.
Seeing her face so close to his nearly buckled him; summoning all his inner strength he pulled slightly away. He didn't get far. Her hand on the back of his neck stopped him. Every pore on the back of his neck suddenly sprang to attention; never had he felt such feeling before. His breath was unsteady, and his heart rate was leaping wildly… or was it hers?
Slowly and with infinite gentleness she pulled his face to hers and her lips brushed whisper-soft against his. Draco felt like crying, it was so perfect, the way he'd spent years imagining it to be. This was sure to be a dream; he'd wake up and die another death because this perfect could never be. His trembling lips pressed closer to hers and, with the surety that the knowledge that this was a dream brought, Draco decided to make the most of the moment.
It was several long moments later that Draco noticed the growing ache in his neck, and with that, knowledge that if there was pain this was not a dream. Panicked he pulled away and was preparing to flee when she stopped him.
"Draco… it's time to tell me now."
He sighed, knowing that his years of long-cherished fantasy were over, and that it was time for the cold harsh realities of life to begin.
"I love you, Hermione Granger." He whispered in a broken voice, before walking towards the door, head bowed and shoulders slumped.
"I love you, Draco Malfoy." Her voice echoed, strong and sure. He halted, turned and looked. She gazed back at him from the bed, eyes glazed in tears. He remained still, and she, knowing what he was waiting for gave it to him.
Holding out her arms, she repeated. "I love you, Draco Malfoy."
The happiness that expanded in his chest threatened to overwhelm everything as he floated over to the bed and fell into her arms. He moved behind her, pushing the pillows to the floor and cradled her in his arms, stroking her hair, her cheek, rocking her and whispering words of love and adoration.
She just smiled. And whispered back.