JANUARY

His footsteps crunched in the snow. His gaze wandered over the bright blanket that covered the Forest ground. He had found the exact spot where Hermione's body had been, but a new layer of snow had fallen over it. There was no trace of blood. Someone, he couldn't remember who, Ginny, Potter or Weasley, had told him that McGonagall had gone into the Forest with some of the teachers to wipe away the Dark Mark. They had probably erased the traces of the tragedy that had occurred in this very spot.

But it didn't matter. Draco continued to let his eyes wander to his feet, trying to reconstruct the path he'd taken while chasing Duncan. He knew he was gone, and not hiding behind a tree. He was long gone. Far away. Unattainable. But if he could somehow track him down, find a clue as to where he had gone, then maybe, just maybe, he had a tiny chance of finding him.

He spent hours combing the Forest, glad that no one was around to disturb him. Even some centaurs watched him from afar and decided not to approach him. The young wizard looked like a lost soul wandering in his own agony.

The students had returned today, and Draco had spent the whole day in the infirmary. He had continued to read the book to her, now alien to the sound of his own voice. He needed to hear her chuckle and rebuke him about his pronunciation. He was unsure of how to pronounce certain names of places and characters. And the amount of characters there were...

He knew Madam Pomfrey would kick him out as soon as dinnertime came, to make sure he wouldn't stay stuck to his chair without getting something to eat. So he left to go back to the Forest for an hour, during which time everyone ate in the Great Hall, and he walked the Forest field for the sixth time in three days.

When he returned with red cheeks to his dorm, which he had forced himself to tidy up as much as possible, he came across McGonagall and Ginny Weasley in the common room. He stopped dead in his tracks and looked at them in turn. Ginny was not looking him in the eye.

"Good evening, Mr Malfoy," said the Headmistress, nodding at him.

"What is this?" he croaked.

"Let me explain, if I may," McGonagall replied, inviting him to sit down with a wave of her arm.

Draco remained standing. Ginny bit her lower lip. The Headmistress decided not to beat about the bush. "Miss Weasley will assume the role of Head Girl until Miss Granger is... back," she said.

Before the Slytherin could open his mouth, the old witch cut him off. "It's temporary, Mr. Malfoy," she added, reading his expression. "You need a partner to help you fulfil your duties and responsibilities, and I feel that Miss Weasley seems to be close enough to you from my last observations. Furthermore, Miss Weasley is the perfect candidate because of her exemplary role in this school, in her classes and on the Quidditch field."

Draco clenched his fists. The idea of another girl, whoever that may be, replacing Hermione, walking the same floor, using the same shower, sleeping in the same bed, and wiping out all of Hermione's unique smell...

"Hermione will come back," he said.

"I didn't say she wouldn't," McGonagall countered, her face soft. "I'm telling you it's only temporary. I would ask you to welcome Miss Weasley as your partner, and to show her the same respect that you have obviously learned to show Miss Granger."

She'll never be her, Draco thought.

McGonagall looked at Ginny, then at Draco, then back at Ginny. "I'll leave you to your own business, Miss Weasley." She walked towards the portrait to leave. "Mr. Malfoy," she said curtly.

Something flashed through Draco. "Wait," he called to her before she left.

The old witch laid her gentle eyes on him.

"I need to check something in the Restricted Section of the library," he said.

The Headmistress' eye twitched. "What is it that you need, Mr. Malfoy?"

"You were told that Hermione wrote 'Duncan MacMillan' in the snow. But we only knew a MacMiller. MacMillan belongs to…"

"The Sacred Twenty-Eight," McGonagall finished.

Draco said nothing, surprised. Ginny was listening to the exchange too.

"Of course I know about this 'elite', Mr. Malfoy," said the Headmistress, noticing the Head Boy's expression.

"There's a book that covers the subject, from all the Sacred Families to the present day, and it's magically updated. It might give us the answer, whether Duncan MacMiller is in fact MacMillan."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "I understand. Who wrote the book?"

"Mandrake, I think."

The Headmistress frowned. "Jericho Mandrake?" she gritted out.

"Yes, Professor."

"That book is no longer available at Hogwarts," she said, her lips tight. "He's a dangerous author who has written several works of Purist propaganda. After Voldemort's death, we removed all books on the subject from the library, including those in the Restricted Section."

Draco felt a wave of discouragement wash over him. He was suddenly exhausted. "Who owns them now?" he gasped.

"These books are the property of the Chairman of the Magical Archives at the Ministry. An investigation is being carried out on each of the applicants to assess their legitimacy for access to these books."

The Slytherin swore inwardly. He would never get permission, given his reputation. He closed his mouth and said nothing more.

The Headmistress breathed in. "I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy. We'll have to find another way to get your answers."

She left, and the dorm fell silent. Ginny, who had been listening to the conversation without saying a word, finally opened her suitcase in the middle of the living room and threw her pillow onto the sofa, without saying a word to Draco.

"What are you doing?" the Slytherin asked.

"I'm not sleeping in Hermione's room," she announced. "It was and still is her room. And anyway, I noticed that her bed was unmade, and yours was untouched, so I guessed you were sleeping in her room, and I'm certainly not going to take yours."

Draco said nothing. Ginny continued to make her own improvised bed on the sofa.

"Besides, one of the reasons I accepted the offer," she continued, "is that you need company. Believe it or not, but I really think it will help you, even just a little, to have someone around. And if you ever want to... talk..."

She looked up at him and continued. "I'll be here," she finished. "I'm not here to replace her in the way you think, okay?"

The Slytherin stood there for a few seconds, trying to process everything Ginny had just said. He finally nodded, took off his coat, and walked without a word to Hermione's room. He left the door open and dropped onto his back on the mattress. He listened as his new partner quietly unpacked her things. After a few minutes of just staring at the ceiling, palms behind his head, he heard her talking in the other room.

"You know, Blaise is back," she said. "I think you should go and see him. He needs you too."

The Slytherin breathed in and released his air slowly. He hadn't thought about Blaise often. He swallowed hard. He didn't know how to reach out on his own to someone else with whom he could have a conversation. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how he could be there for anyone else but her. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, feeling more alone than ever.

Draco Malfoy was avoided like the plague. As he passed, students whispered among themselves. Most had left the Ball with wild assumptions and others had returned with rumours to spread. Draco ignored them for a while. But after a week, he slowly began to crack. And then he didn't care about snapping at them and making comments himself. He didn't mind being rude. Why couldn't anyone leave him the fuck alone?

The first time he saw Blaise was actually during Potions class on Tuesday. They had greeted each other briefly and had done their class side by side. Blaise was trying to think of ways to make conversation with his friend, but Draco was very evasive and distant. He tried to follow the instructions for a Potions recipe but failed, which surprised Blaise. On the other hand, Draco had been concentrating very carefully on making thorough, complete and clear written notes of everything Slughorn was saying.

"You don't usually take so many notes," Blaise had told him.

"No, but she did."

Blaise frowned. No need to specify who this 'she' was referring to. Draco sighed and leaned towards Blaise. "She can still hear," he said. "I intend to read her my notes. So she'll be as little behind as possible when she wakes up. Potter and Weasley are doing the same thing. We all split her classes. Even Ginny wants to read her notes to her, even though she's not in eighth year."

"Wow, that's actually very clever," Blaise had replied.

Blaise had gone to see Hermione for the first time on his first day back at school, accompanied by Ginny. He had refused to speak to her, however. He was convinced that if she heard his voice, the voice of the one who had tortured her, it would trigger negative effects on her. But Ginny had reminded him that Polyjuice didn't alter the voice of whoever drank it very accurately. Blaise was too dubious anyway. So he'd decided to whisper.

Draco attended the weekly visits of the Healer Agnes in the infirmary. She came every Saturday at three o'clock sharp via Madam Pomfrey's chimney, and she noted all of Hermione's vital signs. And every time she left, she always told the Slytherin the same thing.

"Maybe soon."

But it was not soon. The days went by, and soon the weeks. Draco had almost finished reading the first book of The Lord of the Rings to her. He was reading his Potions notes to her and trying to repeat everything that Slughorn himself had explained. Ginny, when she visited her, would give her a report on her Head Girl reports.

The Slytherin was rarely seen in the Great Hall. He usually arrived a few minutes before the end of the meal, and nibbled on some leftovers, on the end of any table in any House. No one came to talk to him anyway. Ginny kept encouraging him to come and eat with them, but he refused. The Gryffindors would get up from the table and go and eat near him, but the Slytherin wouldn't say anything to them. He just allowed them to do so, and quickly disappeared, going back to his wanderings, to the Forest, or to the infirmary. Ginny had told them all about what McGonagall had told Draco about Mandrake's book. They had no way of knowing who Duncan MacMillan really was.

Draco felt an ever-increasing twinge when he thought of her. Whether she was awake or asleep, the image of her, the mere idea of her, the very fact that she existed, had his heart pounding with a new rhythm. He wasn't stupid. He knew that something inside him was unfolding, and this transformation, once complete, would be permanent, perpetual, like an imprint in his soul. He could tell. He knew that. In the past, he would have done anything to nip whatever was growing inside him in the bud. But today, he didn't want to pluck that change from existence. It wasn't what she would want. And he now wanted what she wanted.

Wednesday the 20th of January was mail day; Draco received two envelopes. His mid-year exam results from December, and Hermione's. He didn't even open his own and ran to the infirmary. He sat down in his appointed chair in a hurry.

"Okay, Granger," he said, "ready to hear your results?"

He opened his partner's envelope and looked at her sheet. "Obviously, you got an O in Advanced Arithmancy, an O in History of Magic, an E in Potions, an E in Metamorphosis, an O in Charms..."

He finished stating her grades and allowed himself a small sarcastic snort, looking at the brunette's sleeping face. "Well," he said, "I'm starting to realise why you're so confident during your exams."

He put down her result sheet on her bedside table, and took her cold hand between his. "I don't even know if I've told you this before," he said, his throat suddenly a little tighter, "but you're awfully smart. It pisses me off. You're winning, are you happy?"

He kept his head down, forehead pressed against her knuckles, almost hoping to hear her voice, her sweet voice, exclaiming that she had never implied that she was in competition with him. He closed his eyes, as tightly as he could, almost expecting her to raise her head and have her amber eyes wide open, fixed on him. He waited, in a praying posture, but his mind was empty.

The silence continued.

As usual.

The blond wizard sighed and stroked the brunette's hand with his thumb. "Come back," he finally whispered. "Wake up, Hermione..."

Silence.

"Please."

Silence.

"I need you. I'm... I'm not doing okay."

He kissed her knuckles and let himself sink slowly into numbness, the limbo within himself, where nothing belonged, where everything was chaotic, meaningless and formless, where Hermione's voice was slowly slipping into oblivion.

Draco was in the Forest, once again, walking aimlessly with no clear direction. He had finished his classes for the day and had decided to take a walk around the Forest before having his dinner, if he felt like eating. His appetite was meagre, and the thought of food was twisting his stomach in an unpleasant way. The Forest was now streaked with multiple tracks he had left for days, even weeks. Already a month had gone by since he had picked up his partner and run to the castle. If he had been alone, how could he have warned McGonagall? He had needed Potter. Bloody Potter… The helplessness he had felt that night was beyond measure. He had been unable to apply any charms. He had failed to send an emergency message to warn the Headmistress. Draco frowned, with a strange thought in his head. He was going to have to talk to Potter.

A morbid curiosity always drew him to that very spot in the Forest where Hermione had lain bloodied, and Duncan had leapt to his feet. Draco hadn't seen his face, only a blond head catching the glare of the moon.

A blonde head.

Draco realised that he had to talk to Blaise too.

He hurried back to the castle, his hands freezing and hair dishevelled. He headed instinctively for the Slytherin common room, not knowing if he would find his friend there, or if he was hanging out with Ginny or in the infirmary. He entered through the stone wall and silence fell over the common room, where several Slytherins were sitting or talking. Draco felt his throat vibrate with a growl of frustration.

"Is Zabini here?" He blurted out.

"Don't know, don't care" replied a seventh year whom Draco knew only by his nickname 'Gold'.

A mocking smile crossed Gold's mouth and he pointed at Draco with an amused finger. "By the way, I heard you put that Mudblood back in her place," he said. "I must say, I'm impressed. I thought you'd gone soft."

A few of the other students snickered slightly but said nothing. Gold fist bumped another Slytherin who agreed with his comment. A violent jolt of energy shook Draco from head to toe, and he approached Gold with two threatening strides.

"What did you say?" he hissed.

Gold rolled his eyes, unfazed, and did not lose his smile. In the common room, all eyes were on the two Slytherins. "Come on, relax Malfoy," he sneered. "I only said that this Mudblood was put back in her pl—"

Draco smashed his fist into Gold's face and heard a cracking sound. Probably a broken nose. Good. At the same time, the window of the common room cracked and a thin stream of water poured out. The Slytherins screamed. The common room was under the Black Lake, after all. If the glass shattered, they would be brought his hands to his face and felt his bleeding nose. Draco controlled his breathing through his nostrils, blasting the other boy with what he hoped were some blazing glares. He was steaming.

"Don't EVER say anything like that again," he growled, threateningly.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," Gold spat.

Draco drew his wand and pointed it at him, and a few Slytherins gasped in surprise. Gold raised his palms in front of him in defence.

"You're just a halfwit dick," Draco snapped.

Gold said nothing, his eyes dark.

"Now get out of my sight," Draco ordered.

"I'm not gonna—"

"GET THE FUCK OUT!"

Gold disappeared, presumably to the bathroom to clean himself up. Draco glanced around at the rest of the students watching him. "Does anyone else have a fucking comment?"

No one answered him, and Draco walked towards the boys' dormitory. Blaise wasn't there. The Head Boy stormed out of the Slytherin common room, making sure to knock one thing over. He was going to tell a Professor that the window was cracked and needed to be repaired.

Draco found Potter first, heading for the Great Hall, presumably on his way to dinner. He stopped him abruptly.

"Oh," said Harry, surprised. "Hi, Malfoy."

"Can we talk?" asked Draco, his tone dry.

"Um, yeah, sure."

The Slytherin moved a little away from the others who were walking towards the Great Hall.

"Look," Draco began, "I don't want to ask you this, but…"

Harry watched him, waiting for the next part. To him, Malfoy looked five years older. His eyes were tired and dull and his mouth was still hanging down. His posture wasn't as rigid as before.

"You cast a Patronus to warn McGonagall, didn't you?" continued Draco. "When I asked you to—"

"Yes," Harry cut in.

Draco took a breath and gritted his teeth. Why was it asking so much of him? "I want... I want you to teach me," he said. "How to make a Patronus."

Harry's expression did not change. "Really?" he said.

"Yes, Potter, really."

The emerald-eyed Gryffindor blinked and finally shrugged. "Erm, okay. Yes."

Draco remained silent, continuing to stare at the young man directly in front of him. Harry raised his eyebrows, wondering what the Slytherin was waiting for.

"What, now?" breathed Harry.

"Why not?"

"Can't it wait until after dinner?"

Draco sighed. "Okay, fine," he grumbled. "Just tell me where to meet you."

"The Room of Requirement, does that ring any bells for you?"

The Slytherin glared at him. "Yeah."

"Right, so seventh floor, seven o'clock," Harry concluded. "Don't be late."

The Gryffindor stepped around him and continued towards the Great Hall, leaving Draco behind. The blonde wizard breathed in and out slowly, reaching into his pocket to fumble with his wand. He decided not to eat and to go straight to the infirmary.

When he entered the room, the familiar sight of Hermione's bed in the back gave him a pang in the heart. Still asleep. A figure was sitting by the bed with a book in his hand. Blaise.

Draco silently approached and nonchalantly took a seat in his usual chair. Blaise was reading in a low voice from a large book he had borrowed from the library. Goblin Revolutions through the Ages, Volume 4.

"Aren't you going to eat?" asked Draco.

Blaise looked up at him and closed the book, holding it against his lap. "What about you?" he retorted.

Draco said nothing, and Blaise pursed his lips too. His friend had an appearance that reminded him of the one he had during the Battle of Hogwarts. Gloomy, melancholic, dark. Thinner. Weaker. The Slytherin took Hermione's hand in the palm of his in an automatic gesture.

"There's something I have to tell you," he said to Blaise, not taking his eyes off the sleeping brunette.

"I'm listening."

"I know Pansy used your hair for Duncan's Polyjuice."

Blaise frowned, and his heart immediately began to drum against his chest. He was haunted by the fact that Hermione had been tortured by someone who had stolen his appearance. When she woke up, she wouldn't be able to stand the sight of him... He moistened his lips and let Draco continue.

"But when we got to where he was... holding Hermione down, I chased him through the Forest."

Draco looked up at last, his grey, metallic eyes on his friend. "He was blond, Zab," he said. "And his skin wasn't dark like yours. He didn't look like you anymore."

Blaise shifted his position. "But the Polyjuice—" he began.

"I think it's true," Draco breathed, resting his gaze on Hermione. "I believe for some time he looked like you. But not... not until the end."

Blaise felt his insides twist. A kind of soft and warm feeling licked at his tortured heart. "Are you saying that—"

"The last face she saw, apart from ours in the Forest, was not yours."

Blaise put his hands to his face and massaged his eyes. "Thank Merlin," he breathed out. "Thank Merlin... I know she wrote in the snow that it was Duncan, but I was convinced all along that he'd kept my appearance until the end, even when you chased him."

"I should have told you earlier," Draco said. "I'm sorry."

They remained silent. Minutes passed. The wind whistled against the window panes. Hermione's almost inaudible breathing. Blaise's finger scratching absently against the cover of the book.

"I think you should know," Blaise finally said, "that between Ginny and me..."

"You don't have to say it, Zab," his friend cut him off. "I know."

"And...?"

"And I don't care. Good for you. You do whatever you want."

Blaise nodded and pursed his lips.

"I can actually stand Freckles," Draco continued. "She's not so bad."

Blaise smiled and wanted to chuckle. That a Malfoy could admit that a Weasley wasn't so bad... Another silence quietly surrounded them. Draco sighed. When he opened his mouth again, his voice was smaller, more broken, lower.

"You think she'll wake up?" he whispered.

Blaise blinked and looked into the Gryffindor's motionless face. He missed the way she slapped his shoulder, the way she got angry at him, the way she was so stubborn. He remembered the moment when he'd first really looked at her, that moment in the Owlery, when he'd pulled her off the balcony. How much pain she seemed to be in. He didn't know how magical comas worked. He didn't know what state she would be in when she woke up.

"She'll wake up," Blaise said. "She'll find a way."

Harry was on the seventh floor waiting for Malfoy. He had brought chocolate. He, too, kept thinking about this MacMiller and MacMillan mystery. Draco had once mentioned that the Sacred families were connected, albeit distantly, to each other. He had mentioned the Black family. And Harry was thinking about Sirius. What if Duncan was in fact connected to Sirius? What if Sirius had the answer? A wave of sadness washed over the Gryffindor. He missed Sirius terribly. He wished he could have told him everything that was going on...

Harry shook his head, deciding to think about this mystery later. He couldn't deny that the Slytherin's request had surprised him, but on the other hand, he was beginning to understand more and more what was going on inside the Serpent. Draco wanted to take matters into his own hands. He wanted to make himself useful. He wanted to be able to make the best of emergencies so he wouldn't be helpless like he had been the night of the Ball. The night he had lost Hermione, his partner, his Head Girl. Harry knew what was still unsaid, and that was the only reason he agreed to help Malfoy. If everyone continued to act out of their own grudges against each other, nothing would progress. Nothing would change.

Draco finally reached the seventh floor. He was not wearing his wizard's robes, but a white shirt out of his trousers, and his green tie was not knotted properly. As soon as Harry saw him, he nodded in greeting and immediately began to walk back and forth in front of the blank wall, thinking of the room he wanted. Just one room. As empty as possible. Much like the room they had used for Dumbledore's Army.

Draco stood still as Potter paced back and forth three times and finally the outline of a doorway appeared on the beige wall.

"I have to admit," Harry said, "that magic will always surprise me."

Draco didn't answer and followed the Gryffindor inside. The Room of Requirement had provided them with a room about the same size as the common rooms of the Houses. There was a double black sofa, and the back wall was covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

The two wizards stood in the centre of the room in perfect silence. Finally Harry cleared his throat. "Good," he said. "Tell me what you know about the Charm."

Draco shrugged. "Not much, actually. I know that it has a unique form for everyone. I know that you have to think good thoughts to perform it."

Harry blinked. "Um, yes. That's a good start. In fact, the Patronus can only be created when the sorcerer can conjure up his happiest memories, anything that gives him extreme, pure, undeniable joy. You have to fill yourself with these thoughts and then recite the spell."

"Sounds easy to me," Draco said blankly.

The Gryffindor rolled his eyes. Of course Draco Malfoy would be so confident.

"It isn't," Harry sighed. "It's a very advanced spell that isn't even taught at Hogwarts. Besides, there's a reason why Death Eaters can't produce it…"

Draco clenched his fists, letting the anger rush to his senses without trying to control himself. "Potter," he spat, "don't try to imply that—"

Harry kept his composure. "I'm only saying that it's not an easy spell. Most wizards who practice it fall unconscious or lose their energy the first few times."

He looked around the room. "I guess that's why there's a sofa," he muttered. "And the Patronus can send messages?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. In fact, that's how it worked for the Order. But I imagine that with enough practice, your Patronus will be able to do the same thing."

"And it's fast?"

"Fast enough."

That was all Draco wanted to know. He raised his wand. "What's the spell?" he asked.

"Expecto Patronum. Say it."

"Don't boss me around, Potter," the Slytherin growled. "Expecto Patronum."

"Right. Watch my wand movement."

Harry made the wand movement to cast the Charm without reciting the spell. Draco imitated him, still uncomfortable with this proximity to Potter. If anyone had guessed years earlier that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter would be in the same room practising Patronuses together, Draco would have laughed in their face.

"Now is the hard part," Harry said. "Try to calm your mind. Close your eyes, and let your happiest, most positive thoughts wash over you. If you don't feel well, it's normal, you—"

"Alright, Potter," Draco cut in. "Let me try."

The Slytherin closed his eyes. One by one, he tried to let 'good' memories flash by. He thought first of the time during his second year when he had been given the Seeker's position. That swelling of pride. That feeling that finally he would no longer be in the shadows. His father would be proud.

"Expecto Patronum," he recited with the movement of his wand.

He felt a force draw his vital energy away. His breath caught, but nothing came out of his wand. He was dizzy and wanted to sit down. Harry, not surprised by this first failure, broke off a piece of chocolate without saying anything.

"Keep your fucking chocolate, Potter," Draco grumbled, panting.

"Do you want to try again?"

Draco took deep breaths to bring the oxygen back to his brain, hand on his hips. After a short while he closed his eyes again.

"I'm not going to ask you what you're thinking," he heard Harry say, "but make sure it's happy."

Draco flashed back to the memory of the flight on his broom that he had shared with Hermione. His partner...her hair waving in the wind and flapping against his shoulder. His arms framing her waist. The feeling that he was protecting her himself. From falling. From the cold. The softness of the sky, which was painted in bright hues. It feels good, she'd told him. Could anything be better than this? What if she never got to experience that again with him?

"Expecto Patronum!" he cried.

Nothing happened, except that a huge weakness crashed into the Slytherin and his knees nearly buckled under the weight. His vision blurred. His ears buzzed. It seemed to him that black spots were appearing all around him. Shreds of consciousness began to evaporate. He took two steps backwards, lowering his arm.

Harry stepped forward, ready to keep him from falling. Draco pushed him back, blinking rapidly to keep himself from losing consciousness.

"Chocolate?" tried Harry.

The Slytherin glared at him. "No need," he huffed, looking down at him.

Harry sighed. He'd never known anyone with as much pride as Draco bloody Malfoy. "Look, Malfoy, no one expects you to succeed at your first lesson."

"I'll try again."

Draco swallowed, wiped his forehead against the back of his hand, and straightened his posture. Merlin, he was tired! He took a few more breaths before concentrating. This time he thought back to his first dance with her. The way she squeezed his hand. The way his own hand rested on her back skin as if it belonged to that part of her body. Her smile. The curve of her bare shoulders. She was wearing his dress. His bracelet. What if she couldn't share a dance with him anymore?

"Expecto Patronum," he said, more weakly.

No spell appeared, and Draco fell to his knees, exhausted. Harry did not move, certain that he would be pushed back. He let the Slytherin gasp for breath and fight off unconsciousness. Draco rested his forehead against his hands, which were pressed to the floor. He knew he was in a ridiculous position. The memory of Hermione, alive, awake, beautiful and sparkling, swirled in his head like a painful waltz.

He straightened up and remained on his knees, hands on his thighs. "I...I—," he stammered, still breathless, "give me that bloody chocolate, Potter."

Harry smirked, but quickly hid the smile, and handed the Slytherin a large piece. Draco bit into it, and he felt better.

But deep down, he felt worse. As long as she didn't wake up, all his memories with her would be tainted by that stain. That deadly what if.

On Wednesday, January 27th, on mail day, Draco received an envelope at lunch that he could recognize anywhere. A thick, ivory parchment. A black seal with the letter M. His mother. He realised that he had completely ignored her and forgotten about her for the past few weeks. She must have been either mad with rage or worried sick. He stuffed it into his robe and forgot about it. He didn't feel like reading it over the hubbub of lunch with a hundred other students around.

He attended all his classes, still taking meticulous notes. When he was finally released and returned to his dormitory to drop off his books, he thought of his mother's letter and opened it. Ginny wasn't back yet, so he had some privacy.

My dearest Draco,

What are you encountering at school? Your friend Blaise has written to me because he's terribly worried for you. Please do not place blame on him as he's just worried for your troubled heart. He has shared with me that you are not eating enough nor are you getting enough sleep. According to his accounts you have also lost weight. I believe that "person" Blaise has mentioned to me is still in a coma at Hogwarts. It tortures my mothers heart to know that you are not well. When you didn't respond to me in a timely manner I choose to seek information for myself. Don't blame me son, I needed to understand what was hurting you so.

I went to St. Mungo's of my own accord and learned that it is Miss Granger whom is hospitalized there; I was also told that a large sum of money has been paid for a Healer at Hogwarts. The Healer informed me of the treatments she has received. So this "person" you have indeed suffered so much for is clearly Miss Granger.

Listen to me Draco, you must care for yourself if you wish to be capable of caring for her. The money you have spent is irrelevant to me, please make sure Miss Granger receives the best treatments possible.

She is undeniably very important to you. I know you better than you even know yourself son, so please don't waste either of our times attempting to deny it. I would even venture to say Draco that you are in love with her. No Malfoy man would pay such a sum for a mere friend, and no Malfoy would get themselves into such a state for a girl if you hadn't already given her your heart.

Can you admit that you love her? You should know that to me, her blood status matters not. If she is the one your heart has chosen, then it is undoubtedly because she has demonstrated exceptional qualities.

All my love to you my son,

Narcissa

Draco folded the letter. His mouth went dry. He blinked. Swallowed. Without thinking about it, he put on his coat, gloves, boots, grabbed his broom and ran outside. He was out of air. He had to breathe. Oxygen dug its way into his throat, but hardly filled his lungs. He ran. Crunch, crunch, crunch. His boots crunched against the snow. The wind smacked his cheeks. His coat flapped in the wind.

He hopped on his broom as soon as he was on the Quidditch field and took off. You have feelings for her. He saw his mother's words etched on the ivory parchment again, but in his head it was his own voice speaking to him. His heart sped up. His chest tightened. The wind whistled in his ears as he picked up speed. Hermione wasn't there in front of him. He had no one to protect. Where was her smile? Where was her perfume?

You're in love with her. Draco shivered and tightened his grip on his broom. He sped up, and let the cold pinch his cheeks. Wherever he looked, he couldn't see the mountains or the trees, but her face. Her ghostly figure riding the wind. The honey of her eyes that flowed into the corners of his own. Her laughter that reminded him of spring, and that bounced like a song against the walls of his head. Her mouth, her lips, her tongue, a liquid sunset that he had been lucky enough to kiss. Her skin, soft as a flower, which he had touched.

In front of him was emptiness. A plunge into the void. You're in love with her. Draco circled over the field, not caring about any particular direction. The speed exhilarated him. He wanted to bet with her. He wanted to do rounds with her. He wanted to hug her. Hell, he even wanted to hold her hair when she threw up. He wanted to be the last man on earth to kiss her. He was convinced that if she didn't wake up, he would lose himself.

His eyes were streaming. Maybe it was the wind, or something else. How could it be? When had he walked into the trap? When had he walked into the lion's den? Or the Lioness's den, for that matter? You're in love with her. Like an echo, he heard Hermione's voice whispering to him not to fight him. The same words she had said to him once before. Stop fighting it.

And amidst the shrillness of the winter wind, three simultaneous voices rang out in the depths of his soul. His mother's, Hermione's, and his own.

let

it

go

Draco closed his eyes. The emptiness was coming at him at breakneck speed. Terrified, he grabbed the handle of his broom and pulled upwards. He soared higher. Cradled by the ghost of her hands on him. Of her smell in his nose. Of her voice in his dreams. If one day he really lost her, if she vanished from the face of the earth, then he would have nothing to wake up for each morning, or to even breathe for. If she disappeared, she would take him along with her. Let it go.

And suddenly the epiphany slammed into him.

I am in love with her.

Nothing had ever made more sense than those words he repeated to himself. He burst out laughing at the same time as his last resistance broke down. Everything came tumbling down inside him. It was her. It had been her all along. And it would always be her from now on. She was his question and his answer. Her ice and her fire. She was presence and absence, equinox and solstice, the blood in his veins and the electricity of his memories.

He gained more altitude and halted his climb. Still on his broom, he let himself fall into emptiness. A plunge into the void. This time the void had a colour.

Hermione's eyes.

He never intended to love her. But now it was over. He had crossed over the gulf to her, and all that he had left behind had shriveled and become void.

D.H. Lawrence, The Horse Dealer's Daughter

oOoOoOoOo

I am so, so, so, SO happy to be at this point in the story. Where he finally loves her. Where he doesn't resist anymore. It's a little pet peeves of mine ; when one of them resist too much or deny too much, I don't like it. I wanted to show how Draco falls in love with her while she's gone. How every passing day filled with her absence made him realize how bad he needed her. I hope it was gradual enough and still realistic. Thank you so much for reading this chapter. Let me know anything you feel about this :,)

Axiomea