"Did you know that you could bleed out in at least thirty minutes if you cut vertically."

"Mmm. That's interesting. Why would you think it was relevant to me?" Hermione sat with her legs crossed on the floor in the therapy classroom. Malfoy was staring her down. He reminded her of one of her CPS (Child Protective Services) mandated therapists; scanning her face for micro-reactions that would unravel her deepest secrets. Her new scar had already subsided to a thin cream line that was only a shade different than her regular sun-depleted skin. The two had been paired again for individual discussions. The discussion of the day was fears, however, Malfoy had found a way to link everything back to the incident four days ago.

"Have you still been cutting?" He spoke his words confidently, there was no pause or hesitance. Most people said it like a dirty word but he said it as a clinical fact.

"It's none of your business" She spat, eyes narrowing in a defensive anger.

"What if it is?" Hermione was distracted by Malfoy's edgy cheekbones. They ran together to compose the nose, prominent on his face, like a bow leading a ship. His eyes hid under his brow; brightness contrasting against the shadows and peaks of his face.

"Alright everybody, that's it for today." Daisy sung out. "Any parting remarks?" Mary Ann raised her hand.

"When is the next meeting?"

"Ah, yes. Good question. We will be meeting next Wednesday. Be prepared to participate in open discussion." As soon as they were dismissed, Hermione darted out. She sensed him before she heard him.

"Did you know that one pint of blood can save up to three lives." Malfoy trailed right behind her. "All that blood you're spilling could be used for people who actually want to live."

"How would you even know that?" Hermione asked, trying to divert attention from herself.

"Because I'm smarter than you, that's why." Malfoy broke off from his stalker trail to go down a different path, probably towards Transfiguration. Hermione stood in the middle of the hall, confused at his behavior. Why was he acting like… he cared? But still being insensitive… If that was a way it could be described. She fingered the cut that he had healed, pondering.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For the first time in awhile, Hermione was at lunch. She sat next to some of the girls that were in her room. They tried to engage her in discussion but she was unwilling to participate. So she sat there and listened to their conversation, feeling invisible. There was some watermelon she was eyeing but landed with some chicken instead. About five small bites in, she developed a weird feeling in her stomach. Uncertainty was settling in while she grabbed her bag and dashed off to the bathroom. She got to the sink when the food came back up. Cold sweats glistened on her forehead while her hands went cold.

Despite that, she laid her head on the edge of the cool counter. Shakily she turned the water on, washing down the vomit so she didn't have to look at it. After a round of dry heaving, she left to slowly walk back to her room. She felt like death and didn't make eye contact with anyone. Climbing in her bed had never felt better. The whole experience had left her exhausted meaning she was asleep in minutes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was noise that woke her up. Laughing, the clack of shoes, whispered gossip… must be her roommates. They must have seen her stirring because one of them called out, "Oh sorry, Hermione! Didn't mean to wake you. It's time for dinner, would you like to come with us?"

"I'm gonna stay here." Hermione tried to give her a smile. Mary Elisabeth was trying so hard to include her. Hermione felt as if there was an impenetrable fog between her and everyone else. In a part of her mind, she was angry that no one was trying harder. Didn't they see that she was in pain? Miserable? Horribly and terrifyingly alone?

Well now she was awake. There was no feeling of hunger in her stomach at all. Lingering on her lack of happiness, her mood turned sour. Sulking, she rolled out of bed and turned to the mirror. Her appearance left much to be desired. Disinterestedly she stared at herself. After pulling her once thick hair into a limp pony tail, she felt a little better. Her face was oily, her eyebrows needed to be plucked, nails trimmed and her clothes were grimy. What she really needed was a shower.

For once she had that motivation. One minute she was standing there naked, the next her skin was burning under the water she had let get too hot. Her hand hesitated over the faucet. Pain signals were lighting up her brain, urging her to move, react, but she stood there and let it burn. Maybe something could reach her, make her care.

Then she was walking down the hallway. She felt like her life was under a strobe lights, missing every other moment. Her mind knew what to do from memory muscle. That's why she was surprised to find herself up on the eighth floor instead of the Great Hall. She didn't care though. She never seemed too anymore.

It was twenty minutes later of mindless walking when she saw that she was not alone in this particular hallway. Hermione was going to turn around and slip away when the person lifted their head. It was Malfoy.

"We've got to stop meeting like this." He gave a dry humorless laugh. His legs were straight out in front of him, school robe pooling on the floor. He looked no more disheveled than usual, which meant every hair was in place, but there was a look in his eyes that stopped her.

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(Draco's POV)

"Why aren't you at dinner?" She asked him. Staring straight ahead, he held up the opened letter in his hand.

"I got a late post." Draco picked apart the stone wall pattern in the wall. He had hoped it would be her. There was no one else in here that interested him. There was a secret hiding under her poorly crafted facade. Like a true Slytherin, he believed determination and craftiness would get him what he wanted. What Draco wanted now was answers, however, now was not the time.

"Do you often take to dark empty hallways?" Hermione watched him while she asked, running her fingers across the wall.

"Only when my dad dies." He wasn't entirely sure why he said that. It was a new concept to him to say whatever was on his mind. It felt wrong. His father was probably laughing in his grave, not that he was in one yet. Draco turned to look at Hermione to see her reaction, expecting to see relief or happiness to hear of his father's death. When he met her eyes however he saw…. empathy. Not the pity riddled sympathy but empathy as in she knew this pain.

Hermione moved over and slowly sat down next to him. Shocked, he stayed very still, not wanting to accidentally touch her at all. What was she doing? Was she out of her mind?

"It's surprising how much it hurts, isn't it? Losing someone." Granger faced the wall and her expression was blank. Resentful and angry words were on the tip of his tongue but he held them in. If he said them, she would storm off. For once, he was going to let himself enjoy this moment, this guilty pleasure of his. He was not supposed to be friends with the mudblood. Not that he was friends but imagine how much that would piss off his father... Oh yeah.

"Don't stay because you pity me." He said quietly but with a sharpness.

"I'm not." She replied. He let that hang in the air for a minute before he spoke again.

"Who did you lose?"

"That's not a story for today." Her tone left no room for discussion. Silence fell on the pair of grieving students. For them, the world evaporated and nothing existed past the hallway. They sat for a long time, the concrete hurt their butts but neither one said anything. It felt like Draco thought about everything while he was sitting there. The death of his father was an end of an era for him. It was a time of tyranny and having no opinion. Draco no longer had to be the soldier in his father's mission. He was finally free to shape his own future.

The responsibility felt over whelming. Not wanting to feel that burden, he switched to thinking of his mother. He wondered what she was feeling and if she would want to discuss her thoughts with him. Probably not. Draco tried to comprehend how losing your partner in life might feel.

Lastly, he thought of Hermione. He tried to understand her intentions for her actions. Draco peeked a glance to his left, where she was sitting. He noticed her button nose. Even in this lighting, he could see her freckles decorating her face. Her eyes hid under her drooping eyelids. She looked tired. Not, I've-had-a-long-day tired but I've-had-a-long-year tired. There were premature wrinkles under her eyes and her skin was gaunt. Her collarbone protruded from her shoulders in a painful looking manner. She needed sun, sleep, food. Wasn't there someone to take care of her?

Granger had felt his gaze and turned her head to meet his eyes. It was as if they were actually looking at each other for the first time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco's POV

It became a ritual. After dinner they would meet up and just sit together, usually wordlessly. They two observed the changes in each other. Five days later, Friday, they were sitting there like usual when Hermione suddenly informed Draco that she wanted a couch. So they set off for the Room of Requirement. Fifteen minutes later, Hermione was opening the door to a small room with a gentle fire inviting them in. The walls were surrounded in bookcases filled with novels. On the left was the fireplace and a very comfortable looking couch, complete with extra decorative pillows and a throw blanket on the edge. On the right side was one of the tables that matched the ones in the library, traditional brown square table with two chairs. Hermione bee-lined to the fireplace and held her hands out to the warmth. She was always in long sleeves and a coat. It was winter, granted, but she was always cold. She chalked it up to poor circulation.

Breaking the silence, Draco said, "I'm not surprised that the room you conjure is filled with books." While in the past that would have been an insult, now it was said gently. She seemed more fragile than she had in the past. He still wasn't sure what was going on but if he didn't try to define it, he could accept it. These evenings relaxed him. There was something so healing about just sitting with another person. None of the girlfriends he had dated could sit longer than two minutes without saying something. Of course that wasn't why Draco dated them. The other differences is that both of them had survived a war. A streak of light flashed behind his eyes as he remembered that night at the Manor. Hermione hadn't just survived a war, she survived so much more. His aunt for one. These past days stripped away presumptions he had made about her the past years. He saw her strength. Draco had been labeled as a coward, rightly so, by his family. Being in her presence humbled him. In addition, she had lost so many more loved ones than he had, if that doesn't say something about the Malfoys.

Draco wished he had known her during a different period because then he could have compared her past behavior to her current and see the discrepancies. Nothing was the way it should have been this year, some of that was his fault too. Hermione wasn't the way that she should be either.

Before he got a chance to sit down, Hermione grabbed the couch and scooted it closer to the fireplace. The couch turned out to be more of a love seat so when they sat, it was right next to each other. Staring at the fire turned out to be much more pleasant than the wall pattern. The two were both very comfortable and the cares of the world melted away.

Probably an hour had passed when Draco broke his trance to look at Hermione. Somewhere along the past few days Granger became Hermione, he wasn't sure when it had happened. He saw that she was asleep on her hand. However she twitched and woke up. He felt a pang of pity for her. The last thing she needed was for her sleep to be interrupted.

"Go to your dorm." Hermione was still groggy when he spoke. Eyes half closed, she shook her head like a child. She slung one of the end pillows onto his lap and lay her head down before he could stop her. With his hands up in the air, he just looked at her in bewilderment. She fidgeted once but stayed in her curled up position. Draco had seen her earlier at lunch. Every time he saw her was a shock. She looked terminally ill some days. So instead of pushing her off, he grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch and spread it over her. Next he accio'd some of the books from the fiction section behind him until he found one that he would be willing to read and settled himself in for the evening.