February 1st, 2005

The witch at the portkey office stared impassively back at me. "Miss Granger-Malfoy, did you not just have a portkey to Patagonia made?"

"Yes, but that's what I'm trying to tell you. I need another one. Expedited, please."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. The earliest we can get this approved is one week."

"But you were able to get my last portkey approved in two days." After I had flooed Gregory, the department head. "I'd like to speak to Gregory Doper, please?"

She smiled wanly, revealing a smudge of vermillion lipstick between her front teeth. "I'm afraid Mr. Doper is out of office, and, as I've said, there's really not much else we can do for this request."

"You don't understand." A spark of panic danced along my spine. "It's an emergency."

She raised her eyebrows. "An emergency? If I recall correctly, that's what you said last time too. At this point, shouldn't you go to the auror's office? They're on floor five."

"This is a matter of grave importance, and I would appreciate it if you could push further into this matter." The volume of my voice made several people in the waiting room look over.

She placed her hands on her desk, right behind a gold nameplate announcing Katie Hopkins, and plastered an imitation smile on her face. "And this is a matter of procedure, so I hope you can understand how my hands are tied."

Magic crackled from my fingertips; a green stream slammed into the glass sliding window between us. She jumped back, eyes wide, and I curled my fingers into my palm and stumbled back.

A beat of silence, and then her mouth slitted into a thin line. "Miss. Granger, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." A soft murmur floated around the room; one of the men in the waiting room stood up, as if to intervene.

"I apologize. I didn't mean to do that. I just–" I closed my eyes, felt hysteria crawl up my throat– "I really need to get that portkey."

"If you don't leave, I'll have to call one of the aurors."

When I didn't immediately move, the man walked closer. "Miss, I think you should go now." He waited a beat, and then touched my shoulder.

I jerked back. "Do not ever touch me again. Understood?"

He nodded. Katie had stood up, one hand on her wand, and the other poised over what looked like an intercom of sorts. I opened my mouth. Her fingers twitched over the dashboard. Behind me, a child whispered, "Mommy, what is that woman doing?" Swallowing, I turned and walked away.


An hour after I came home, the floo burst to life, and Harry rushed through, powder dripping in a fine mist down his overcoat.

"Hermione? Are you all right? The portkey office called me." And then he looked around us, at the textbooks I tossed onto the floor, pages of parchment ripped into jagged pieces around me. The inkwell had fallen, and I had black shadows splattered around me, the desk lined with handprints, my wand speckled with black and tossed on the floor. All those notes, all that research. What good had it done for me?

"What happened in here? Where's Malfoy?"

I hadn't wanted to tell Harry what was going on, but as soon as he appeared, the plan rushed out, syllables slurred by my distress. I omitted the bits about Penelope, about Cadric. Even then, I knew he wouldn't be able to handle it.

When I finished, all the color had drained from Harry's face. He conjured a handkerchief for me out of a glove and disappeared into the other room. Ginny burst through the floo not long after.

Cold seeped into me as soon as I realized what was happening. I rushed towards the door, but Harry held me back, arm clamped down on my elbow.

"Hermione, Hermione, listen to me," Harry said. "What do you think is going to happen if you rush into the ministry like this? What do you think they'll do–"

"Let me go." My voice rose as I tugged harder, trying to dislodge his grip. "If you're not going to help me. I'll just figure it out myself."

"Hermione, please." Harry stepped forward, blocking my path. He had both palms on my upper arms now. "If you don't calm down, I'm going to have to take your wand."

"What?" I turned, throwing my weight forward, trying to break free. "What the hell are you doing, Harry?"

"I'm taking your wand now. Gin, can you grab it? Hermione–" I lunged for my wand, and he pulled me back, hands shaking slightly– "Listen to me. I want to help you, but we need a plan, okay? We need to think this through."

I exhaled, his words slamming into me. I didn't know what I would do if I stormed back into the portkey office, who I would demand to speak to. How had I never anticipated this? I couldn't think past trying to get to you.

Harry's hold loosened slightly. "Hermione, you can't go back there in this state. They already called me and told me what happened. I'll go speak to them, see what I can do."

He was leaning forward, speaking to me in an increasingly soft tone. Ink from my fingers had transferred to his hands, and his slouch made his uniform seem too big on his body. For a moment he was the same boy I had watched jump out of Hagrid's arms and race across the courtyard, determined to finish what he considered a duty. My best friend, the boy who lived.

"Hermione," he said. "We love you. Please let us help you."

He gave me an encouraging smile, the edges of it pulled taught with suppressed tension. I hesitated, then nodded, letting him guide me to an armchair.

"Gin? Could you grab a calming draught?"

He grabbed the potion and then kneeled in front of me, taking both my hands in his. "Hermione, you don't have to do this alone."

I tried to come for you, Draco. I don't want you to think I didn't. I thought they were helping me get to you. I thought they cared about you as much as I do.

Ginny left to "grab something" and came back with an overnight bag slung across her chest, one I suspected had been charmed to fit more than a day's worth of clothes. Harry waited until she reappeared before heading to the Ministry, and they exchanged a look as he stood in the floo. Shame flooded me: from Harry Potter's best friend to his burden.

Ginny and I sat in the living room, watching dusk descend through the windows, waiting for the whoosh of his return. She tried to hold my hand at one point, and I pulled away, a knee jerk reaction. I felt her stiffen beside me before she excused herself to make tea.

In the late evening, Harry came back, hands tucked into his slacks, gaze downturned.

"How did it go?" I clutched the throw pillow in my lap, pulling at the tassels. Sweat studded my skin, sliding down my shoulder blades and into the band of my bra.

He sat down at the end of the couch, hand curled over his knees. "I've been trying to get in touch with Greg Doper, to see if he can make some calls. I just need a bit more time."

"How much more time?"

He hesitated; wet his lips. "I'm not sure, honestly." And then he met my eyes. "But I promise I'll do my best." I believed him.

He ordered us takeout that night, Greek food from the restaurant down the street. "I've heard the chicken souvlaki is great–Hermione, what's wrong? Are you not hungry?"

I shook my head, mumbling an excuse and retreating upstairs. In bed, I closed my eyes: the image of your half-eaten chicken from the night you left–the plastic knife split clean down the middle–stayed branded behind my lids.


February 4th, 2005

Ginny watched me everywhere I went, hands rubbing her wrist absently, gaze searching my face. I don't know what she was worried about; it's not like I could leave without a portkey.

My patience wore thin with her constant, nervous energy.

The only time I had privacy was in the bathroom. Even then, I could hear the tread of Ginny's steps beyond the door, etching her worry into the carpet. I tried to hold it together, escaping when I felt oversaturated with hysteria. When you came back, I didn't want you to see me like that. At that point, I still thought about your safe return as a when and not if.

But sometimes the panic crept up my spine, a spiked fear lodging in my throat. Harry would return, answerless, and I'd lock myself in the bathroom, strip down and huddle in the tub, arms around my knees as cold water filled the space around me. Teeth chattering, I let myself remember your last journal entry: I've loved you the best way I know how, Hermione, but I don't think it's enough. Maybe doing this is the only way to bring you back.

When the pressure peaked–two hands squeezing against my temples until I thought my skull would explode, splattering brain matter everywhere–I slid under the water, eyes open, watching the bubbles rise from my mouth as I mouthed your name.


February 5th, 2005

I was hunched over my research, trying to find a feasible cross-continent apparition route, when Harry knocked on the study door. He stayed at the threshold, crossing his arms and surveying the room.

The silence stretched; his eyes narrowed as he took in the books in front of me.

"Has there been news from the portkey office? Were you able to get in touch with Gregory Doper? I know he's on holiday, but–"

"Hermione, I think we should visit your father."

Shame stabbed me, radiating from my solar plexus; I hadn't thought about Dad since you'd left.

"What?"

"If you're really set on going to Patagonia, you should probably see him."

I exhaled, pressing my feet into the ground to remain steady. "Yes, that's a good idea. I'll go later today."

"How about right now? I'll come with you."

"Oh," I pulled my cardigan tighter around me. Harry wore a strange expression on his face, like he had eaten something bad."It's okay if you're busy. I imagine you must have cases to attend to." I felt a flutter of nerves at the thought of him there, staring at me, watching my every move. It felt unnatural, something I had never before associated with his presence.

"I think you should let me come." He walked towards the floo, turning and waiting for me to move. "I took the rest of the afternoon off." He reached for the floo powder before waiting for my answer.


The antiseptic of the hospital seemed stronger than before, stinging my nostrils. I buried my face into my scarf and squinted against the fluorescent lights; my temples pulsed with exhaustion and vertigo.

Harry kept his hand on my back, guiding me even though he hadn't been here before. I paused outside the door to Dad's room, fingers curled around the door knob. The deja vu made my chest ache. Less than a week ago, your hand on mine. My resentment then, how stupid I had been.

Inside the room, Dad lay, head propped up on three pillows. Two patches of red bloomed on the tops of Dad's cheeks, sweat beading across his forehead. "Hermione?" He blinked, and tried to sit up. I rushed towards him, easing him into a seated position as his mouth wobbled, struggling to shape words. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, Dad. It's me." My chest ached. "I'm sorry I haven't been here the last few days."

"Is that Draco?" He coughed, a deep, hacking sound slicked with phlegm, and squinted. "Did he do something different...with his hair?"

"I–" My hand on his back trembled, and he see-sawed from the loss of stability before I gripped his shoulder, steadying him.

"Hermione." Harry cleared his throat, and touched my elbow. I jumped. "Maybe we should get the doctor."

"I–" The walls around us blurred, the corners liquifying as I blinked and wet my lips. "Yes. Could you go and ask for Dr. Marron?"

Dad's chest shook, and he turned, burying his face against his shoulder, the feeding tube rubbing against his gown. "I missed you, my darling girl." He wet his lips. "Have you seen your mum?"

"Dad," I touched his forehead; heat seeped into my palm. "How do you feel?"

"A tad warm." He smiled, and the thin cracks in his lips re-opened, oozing out blood. "Just slightly hot."

I sat down on the edge of his bed, smoothing down the damp wisps of hair at his temple. "Can you tell me where you are right now?"

Snot dribbled down his nose, and I reached for a tissue. "At home, of course. And my darling daughter has come to visit."

"And where is Mum?"

His eyebrows pulled together. "I'm not sure. Do you suppose she popped out to the store?"

"Dad," my throat seized. He looked at me expectantly. One eyelid drooped, exacerbating the wrinkles on the left side of his face. "She–" The door creaked open.

"Miss Granger." Dr. Marron stood in the corner, hands clasped in front of him. "Could I have a word in the hall, please?"

"I'll be right back, Dad."

Harry stood behind him, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. As I passed him, he gave my hand a quick squeeze and nodded.

In the hall, I crossed my arms and faced Dr. Marron, voice edged with accusation. "What's wrong with him?"

"Hermione–"

"Why didn't anyone call me? How long has he been like this?"

"Your father spiked a fever early yesterday morning." Dr. Marron cleared his throat. "We tried calling...but we couldn't reach you."

I squeezed my eyes shut, clutched the wooden railing on the wall. The cellphone, split in two, thrust into the back of my nightstand: broken in a fit of exasperation after our fight that night. How could I have been so stupid?

"I've been–Is he..?"

"We've gotten his fever down slightly, but…he's very weak."

"He's delirious. He's...not making sense. Is he in pain?"

Dr. Marron exhaled. "Yes. I imagine he's in quite a bit of pain."

His features blurred in my vision, and I bit down on the inside of my cheek, leaving indents in the smooth flesh. "How much time does he have left?"

Dr. Marron opened his mouth, and then closed it as he pressed himself against the wall, letting two nurses wheeling a gurney pass by. Their laughter ricocheted off the walls, and a lump ossified in my throat.

"Not much longer, I would say. If your father's progression mirrors your mother's, then he'll slip into a coma in the next few days, and then–" Dr. Marron took a step closer to me. "Hermione, are you alright?"

"I don't understand. I've only been gone a few days, haven't I? I didn't mean to–I didn't realize how long it's been."

"Hermione? Perhaps you should sit down." He put his hand on my shoulder, and I stumbled a step back. In my periphery, I watched Harry rush forward, the heavy tread of his boots echoing in my head.

"I'm fine. I just–" The muscles in my legs melted, and I leaned over, bracing myself on my knee.

"Hermione? Hermione, can you hear me?" His voice sounded tinny and distant, like the soundwaves had been caught underwater.

"I–"

"Thank you, doctor, but I've got it from here." Harry reached for my arm. "I'm going to take you home, okay?"

Panic seized me, and my hands shook as I dug my nails into the sleeve of his sweater. No, I wanted to say. Dad.

"Hermione, can you walk? Here, just lean on me, okay?" Everything felt too bright. My head pounded, temples throbbing with a familiar pressure. A pair of trainers came into view and I looked up; a nurse was standing, staring at Harry.

I was still holding onto Harry as he turned and spoke to her. They murmured, a muted volley of words too low to discern, and then Harry was guiding me out of the hospital. We passed by the nurse's station. I gasped as we burst into the alley, crumbling against Harry as the rush of apparition thumped around me.


We landed in the living room, Harry's call announcing our arrival: Gin, grab the potion, please.

The calming draught wove through me, stitching me into a state of tranquility I'd forgotten existed. As soon as I felt my muscles re-solidify, I stood, pausing as vertigo engulfed me. I blinked, chasing away the black spots in my vision. Harry had his arm on my shoulder, steadying me.

I swallowed and straightened. "I need to go back to the hospital–my dad."

Harry nodded, fingers dropping from the crook of my elbow.

"Will you...come with me?"

He nodded without hesitation, surprising me. I no longer expected anything from him.

Harry stayed with me for most of that day. Gratitude and shame coalesced inside me, pitted against my throat, stealing all the things I wanted to say to him. At night, he left, promising to come back soon with a change of clothes for me.

The fever toyed with Dad's body, spiking up before teasingly lowering; his body seeped overnight, leaving patches of sweat pooling underneath him. Every time I thought he had stabilized, finally fallen asleep, he would let out a guttural moan, clawing at the wires threaded across him.

Dr. Marron checked on Dad often, but the way he loitered in the room, I knew he pitied me. He lingered after evening rounds. I was looking down at my lap, but I noticed the sudden silence in the room, the cessation of his movements. When I looked up, he was staring at me.

"There are–" Dr. Marron faltered, and I heard him walk closer, the twang of his stethoscope hitting wood as he sat down next to me. "We have grief counselors at the hospital. I could recommend someone to you."

I thought of Susan, her lacquered nails and silk fabrics. The way her lips pursed with your retorts. Her incessant, probing questions. How much you hated our session, but went anyway, because I asked you to.

One of the last things I said to you was: Don't make me choose between you and my dad.

In the quiet moments when Dad stopped moaning and writhing, I sometimes stared at him and wondered what scared me most about that statement: its implications, or my answer.

Hours past midnight, Dr. Marron found me in an empty room down the hall, head between my knees, shaking.

"Hermione? Can you hear me?" I saw the tips of his shoes come into view, and then I felt his hand on my shoulder. "Hermione, breathe. You have to breathe, okay?"

I looked up; Dr. Marron's eyes were zeroed in on my face, concern pulling his eyebrows down.

"I don't know how to do this alone," I sobbed. "Just tell me what I'm supposed to do. I just want him to come back."


I don't know what I had expected when I flooed Susan, but as the green flames licked her visage in the floo, I felt suddenly silly.

She sounded surprised, and her voice carried a weary streak, but she invited me to come early the next morning.

I came straight from the hospital, clothes still wrinkled with deep creases from how I'd slept coiled in the chair.

"Hermione?" She blinked, opening the door wider. "Come in. Why don't you wait for me in the office? I'll make us some tea."

Your phantom lingered everywhere: sitting in the armchair, hands clenched against the wood; standing in the doorway, staring at me like I was a stranger; leaning across the desk, barking at Susan.

Susan drifted in with tea, handing me a cup and stifling a yawn against her shoulder. She had been gracious, accommodating this timeslot so I could make it back in time for morning rounds. Sitting down behind her desk, she pulled out a notebook and quill. "Where should we start, Hermione? It's been awhile since I've seen you, hasn't it? Should we–"

"I made a mistake." The words tumbled out, edging into the space between us. "And Draco left, to try to fix it."

"Do you know where he's gone?"

"Yes. He's in Patagonia."

"Sorry?" She sat up, leaning on her elbows. "I'm not following?"

"He went to find this plant I needed for a potion, to help Dad. I was supposed to go, but he went instead because–" I broke off, dread manacled my vocal cords, forcing me to clear my throat and take a sip of tea. "It doesn't matter, but he's gone, and I'm currently trying to bring him back. I've packed and prepared, but I'm waiting on the portkey."

"Hermione,"' Susan spoke in a gentle, hushed tone. "Do you have any friends I can call? Do you have someone staying with you?"

Humiliation ebbed across my chest, and I had to press one hand into my thigh to keep from snapping. "Yes, I do. That's not why I'm here. I'm here because," my voice cracked, and the cup trembled in my palm, tea sloshing across my fingers, "my dad's gotten worse. They say he won't have much longer, and I don't know what to do. It feels like an impossible choice right now. I–"

Susan had put down her quill, a flicker of sympathy flaring across her face.

"If the portkey comes in, and Dad still isn't better, and Draco is still gone... I love my Dad, but I need Draco, and I don't know how to–If I leave and Dad"–I blinked and Susan's face blurred into a thousand fragments of light– "passes, I will never forgive myself. But I can't bear the thought of Draco out there, alone, trying to fix my mistake."

"Hermione, when did you say the portkey will come?"

"I"m not sure. Harry has been trying to expedite the process, but it seems like it won't be here until Tuesday."

"What are you most worried about?"

"I–" I swirled the tea, watching the stray leaves at the bottom whirl.

"Are you worried that Draco is in danger?"

"I worry….that he won't come back."

Susan's brows curved in, sending a ripple of wrinkles across her forehead. "That he'll get hurt?"

"No–I mean, yes. I always worry he'll get hurt. But I'm also worried…" I traced the line of my collarbone. "What if he recognizes it's not worth it? That we're–I'm–not worth it."

"Why do you think that, Hermione?"

"Because it's a foregone conclusion now. Dad will probably pass before Draco comes back. The plant will be worthless, and he'll resent me. That's why I didn't want him to go. If I messed up, I didn't want to drag him down with me."

A long beat of silence passed. I expected to hear the frenzied scrawl of Susan's quill across parchment, but she was still staring at me, the edges of her eyes dragged down, inscrutable.

"Do you still have your journal? The one I assigned you and Draco to write to each other in."

"Um, yes."

"Have you been writing in it?"

"Sometimes. I...there have been other things on my mind." Vestigial shame curdled inside me; I felt like I was being reprimanded for a missed assignment.

"That's all right, Hermione." She smiled, the first stretch of warmth on her face all day. "But I think it would be a good idea for you to revisit the exercise."

"Susan, with all due respect, I think I have more pressing matters than writing through my feelings–"

"But what choices do you really have, right now? The portkey won't come until next week, which means you're in a waiting game right now. Hermione," she said, her voice turning conciliatory. "I'm suggesting you use this time to write to Draco again, to tell him the things you'd want him to know now. Go back and revisit those entries, and think about what you wish you could have said to him."

I stayed silent, counting the hatch marks lining one of the desk legs, like a cat had clawed its way up.

"Hermione, I imagine you're spending a lot of time at the hospital, sitting with your father. I also imagine there are many things you'd like to say to Draco, or that you wish you would have said. I see this as a way of kill–" She cut off, smoothing a hand down her hair ponytail before restarting, "tackling two birds with one stone."

When I still didn't speak, she got up and moved to the chair next to me. "Hermione," she touched my hand, and I resisted the urge to pull away. "I'm telling you to treat this as a second chance."


February 7th, 2005

In the hallway, I followed Dr. Marron mutely, peering into the rooms we passed by. Visiting hours had just begun; family members were everywhere, gift baskets and flowers buoyed in their arms. Loneliness skewered through me; Dr. Marron slowed his pace to match mine.

His office smelled of synthetic french lavender, and I felt nausea swell as he gestured for me to sit.

"Would you like some tea, Hermione? I keep a kettle in my office."

Laughter bubbled up. I shook my head, bit down on my lip to keep the sound contained. Tea, like we were friends. Like this was a social visit.

He cleared his throat, clasping his hands together on his desk. "I'm sure this is beyond difficult for you, Hermione. I want to assure you that my team will do everything we can to make this remaining time as comfortable as possible for your father."

"I know. That's not why I'm here." I swallowed, lacing my fingers together in my lap. "I need to take a trip."

"Oh, um." He adjusted his glasses. "I see. I–Hermione, I'm not sure how much longer your father has."

"I know, but my husband...he left, and I need to go find him."

Dr. Marron stayed silent, waiting for me to continue.

"You must think I'm a terrible daughter." I looked down, pinching at a loose flap of skin on my thumb until blood oozed out. "I'm going to try to make this as fast as possible. I just–I need to find him."

"I understand. Is there some way I can reach you, in case of emergency?"

"I'm going to leave you his lawyer's number. I don't know if there will be cell reception where I go. If...if anything happens, he'll know what to do. There's, um, no other family to call. It's just me."

His pager went off, and Dr. Marron glanced down for a second before silencing it. "I'm sure the residents can handle this one."

His kindness sparked shame inside me. "I don't want you to think of this as a choice, Dr. Marron." My voice lurched up, unsteady. His face softened, the corners of his mouth pulling down. "I love my dad. Watching him like this is unbearable, but I need to do what I think is right, even if it's wrong. I need to go and find Draco."

The silence dragged on; I wished he would say something. Finally, he cleared his throat, and when I looked up, he was fiddling with the folder on his desk, lining the corners up. "I don't think you're a horrible daughter, Hermione." His fingers hovered above the desk, near where my hand lay. "I think you're a young woman who's had to make many impossible decisions."

The nurse nodded at me when I walked into the room. I didn't approach Dad's bed until I heard the door click shut. His fever had broken, but his whole face looked sunken in, the skin desiccated and borderline-translucent.

"Dad?" I reached for his hand. I could feel the veins straining against his skin, a river of green branching up his arm. "It's me, Hermione."

He groaned, spittle flying from his mouth, and then turned, wires tangling as he tried to curl into himself.

"Don't, Dad. Stop–you're going to pull out one of the IVs."

I gripped his shoulders, careful to keep my touch light, and he batted at me, long fingernails scratching the back of my palm.

"Dad, please." I was leaning over him, palms wrapped around his forearms, and he blinked at me. "'Mione?"

"Yes, it's me." Salt crawled up my throat, and I bit down on my lip, pulling a chair up next to his bedside. "Dad, I need to talk to you about something."

"All right, but we won't have long." He sighed, a long exhale of air that turned into a cough. Then his face contorted, left eye twitching, like he wanted to wink. "You know how your mother gets when we're late for dinner."

I held his hand between my palms. "Dad, I need you to listen to me, okay? I need to go away for a bit."

I didn't know if he understood what I was saying. His eyes flitted over my face before drifting behind my head.

"I have to go take a little trip, but I'm going to try to make it back as soon as I can, okay? And I promise you, you're not going to be alone. The doc–the people here will look after you, okay?"

His eyes were drifting shut, and I squeezed his hand gently. "Dad, I love you, okay? All I've ever wanted to do is keep you safe. I–" My vision trembled, lights blurring into stars, and I shut my eyes, bringing his palm up to my cheek. "I've done so many things wrong, but I love you so much. And if–if you're in too much pain...and you need to go, I understand too. You don't need to wait for me."

His fingers twitched between mine. I looked up, and he brought his other hand to my head, patting me. "Don't cry, darling." I froze; his eyes seemed bright and alert. Was he…?

"Your grandfather won't be upset forever. It's just a sculpture. You can use your savings from this summer to help him pay for it."


February 8th, 2005

I bought a plane ticket, just in case, a contingency plan. I would have lost a day or two getting into that part of the jungle. I wasn't even sure if I could access it without a portkey, but it didn't matter; I couldn't keep waiting.

I don't know how hard Harry pushed for that portkey, if he pushed at all, even. I had braced myself for disappointment, but it still stung when we got to the portkey office and all he did was sigh and shake his head.

"I'm sure it'll just be a little longer, Hermione."

I had a redeye ticket, a layover in Brazil. I would leave a note, or maybe I wouldn't. They'd know either way.

I felt absurd, slinking through my own home, looking over my shoulder. I wouldn't have let Harry stop me from leaving this time, but I didn't have the energy to fight with him either. I just needed to get to you.

I was on the stairs when I heard you. It was a thump, like a bag of flour hitting the counter, and then the sound of your groan.

"Draco?" I dropped the duffle, sprinted down the stairs; socks pounding across wood. "Is that you?"

It took me a second to make out your outline, face down on the carpet. The moonlight cast everything into grayscale, and I rushed towards you, thinking you had just fallen.

"Draco? Merlin, is that you? Are you alright?"

I kneeled down, and you hissed when I touched your torso, attempting to sit you upright. I pulled my hand back; a black liquid covered my palms. Under my lumos, it turned crimson.

"Hermione?" Gasping, you touched my knee.

I swung my wand across; you were stained red. Blood, everywhere, snaking across the carpet, pooling around you like a rorschach test.

"Am I back?" You twitched, the jerk of your body sending blood onto me.

I inhaled, and then I began to scream.


Hermione pauses, placing the notebook facedown on the table; her throat hurts, raw from overuse. The sun beams into the room, creeping across the white bedsheets and illuminating the pale cast to his skin.

Moving closer to the bed, she touches his hand, careful not to disturb the IV needles threaded across his arm. The machines beside him beeps a steady rhythm. She watches the dip in his throat as he breathes. Leaning over, she presses a kiss against his forehead. "Draco, please wake up."