Thank-you so much for your kind words and for sticking with this. You have no idea what it means to me, especially right now.

Thank-you.

Warning: This chapter deals with attempted suicide. Read at your own risk.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.


Year 1997, January

Astronomy Tower

Do you ever feel like you are drowning in despair? Do you ever feel like you are just standing over a large precipice of a big, black hole of nothing; a hole in which you don't even see or get to the end of, because it will just swallow all of you? Ever heard voices in your head, mocking you, telling you to shut up; telling you, you are worthless. Ever got the feeling your heart was ripping in half, the pain bringing you to your knees, the knife in your hands cutting into your skin, just so you could try and dull the burning in your chest? And you just wish your heart would stop beating, you just wish you could rip it out with your own two hands just so you could breathe without the pain, without the darkness, without the despair. You clutch your form; you fear for the inside of you that is shattering. Your organs want to keep you alive but you hurt all over. Your legs give out, your hands tremble and the blood… The blood pumps in you, threatening to spill all over the floor. And you cry out. You cry out because you want it to be done, to be over. You cry and the tears burn your cheeks. You call out in the dark, to the dark. You call out and ask for it to be over, you ask to be gone, to be done. You plead for the pain to stop, for your chest to finally give in. You pray for your heart to fucking break because then,

then

you can just get lost in the time of counting the pieces.

But Hermione didn't have the time to count the pieces, she hardly had the time to breathe at all. Drowning in your own tears was something she had never considered to be possible, but that is how she felt right now as those massive, fat tears fell down her face and onto her bent knees. Her nose was getting impossibly stuffy and her throat felt raw with salt. Her whole frame trembled as she tried desperately to hold on.

Hold on.

Hold on.

Hold on.

Hold on to what?

Hold on to what? What was there to hold on to? Who was there to hold on to?

Hold on.

There was nothing to hold on to. Absolutely nothing.

And that was what was scary. That was what was despairing, hopeless and with no end in sight. Hermione had always managed to see the light at the end of the tunnel, even when the corridors and passageways became too dark. She always had some kind of reason to carry on to the other side, to keep moving, even when she was brought to her knees.

Her whole life had been a struggle, one way or another. The struggle to be the best, to prove herself. Her struggle to show others that she could do better, that she could be better. The struggle to do the right thing, to act the right way, to be the hero her parents, her friends, her students and other muggleborns deserved.

As she recalled the times she had found herself on her knees, Hermione painfully became aware that the things that once made her get up and move again - get up and get to the light – were gone. It was gone. All gone.

There was nothing to hold on to.

Harry, Ron… her parents. Oh God, her parents.

She sobbed harder, at the harsh memory of having to do the unforgivable; of having to make the most painful decision in her life. How her mother had begged her not to, how her father tried to reason with her, to show her there had to be another way. How they kept telling her they wouldn't forget her, that it wasn't possible. How could we forget our own daughter? How could we forget our Hermione? There must another way! There has to be!

But Hermione knew there wasn't. She knew there wasn't any other way. She had to keep them safe, she owed them that much. Merlin, she loved them so much… And now.

"Now they are gone…" she mumbled weakly.

A part of her wished that it hadn't worked; a part of her secretly had wanted the spell to fail. Maybe magic could not really overcome love after all, maybe it wasn't supposed to. Love was such a powerful thing, Harry being the living proof of that. Love was the ultimate magic, as cheesy as it might sound. Love was powerful, the most powerful of all weapons. And Hermione had hoped it would overcome her spell. She had hoped that the love her parents had for her wouldn't make them forget. If only, it would just make it stronger. How could they forget her, their own daughter?

Another heart-wrenching sob passed her lips, as the image of her mother looking at her, dazed and confused went through her mind.

Who are you?

Her hands grasped her calves, her nails carving into her skin.

They were gone. All of them. And now here she was, up on the tower where everything changed. Here she was, at the begging of something that felt so much like an ending.

It was supposed to be the start of a new year. A new year normally brought the feeling of hope, the feeling of a new start. Changing years meant changing life… or at least that was what most people wished for. People awaited a new opportunity, the opportunity of change, any change, whether it meant a new change of clothes or a new change of future. Hermione remembered how her parents would always make their twelve wishes at the sound of midnight, a habit she quickly picked on. Harry and Ron used to tease her about it, her wishes usually revolving around school grades, new books and the occasional wishful thinking for new leads, clues and luck for their battles against the dark side. Ron would then feel left out when she and Harry would start teasing each other about defeating the dark side of the force.

She chuckled bitterly.

Those days, they seemed so far away now.

And tonight? Tonight didn't bring the change of a new year; the feeling of hope. Tonight, Hermione didn't make her twelve wishes. Tonight hadn't been about celebrating or forgetting. Tonight, Hermione had helped carry a body. A tiny, little body.

She shook hastily, her eyes not being able to contain another wave of salt water.

She had been so tiny… So little and fragile. Her auburn hair had been adorned with a tiny, green flower. Her petite dress scrunched up under her robes. Her hands had been hanging limply from her arms. Her skin matched the temperature of the cold, stone floor. And her eyes…

Hermione brought her hands to her own eyes.

Her eyes… they were open, fearful and… empty. Just… empty. Hermione swore she even saw fading tear streaks.

She had died crying. That petite, helpless girl had died crying. She had died crying, scared and alone.

They found her hours later, the discovery being made by a fourth year Ravenclaw. Hermione had been up in the Gryffindor Common Room, preparing herself for the sound of midnight. She had been surrounded by her fellow house mates, who were trying so hard to maintain the flame going, to maintain the tiny spark of hope that kept vanishing every time a new bruise would come into view. The spark kept being threaten every time any one of them would see each other crippling or crying. The castle had lost all the light, all the warmth. But not tonight. Tonight the room had shone. It had been full of light, full of hope. They had smiled and laughed and prepared themselves for something new, something fresh. They were prepared for change.

Until MacGonagall came running through the portrait.

Hermione lifted her head and looked ahead, ahead into the balcony, past the ledge, onto the dark sky, replaying everything in her mind, step by step.

MacGonagall had come running and Hermione immediately forgot what they were celebrating about. And as she ran down the stairs, following the Headmistress, she had felt her heart painfully constrict; constrict with worry, shame, guilt, sadness. As she ran down the stairs, she felt the tiny spark extinguishing itself and ultimately,

ultimately

Hope vanished.

And as she reached that girl's body, unceremoniously dumped at the bottom of the stairs, Hermione suddenly couldn't feel anymore and her heart stopped beating.

She shuddered again, closing her eyes, wishing the image would stop showing itself.

It was her fault. She was Head Girl. She was Hermione Granger. She had made a promise to keep the students safe, to keep everyone safe. She had stayed behind for that. She had left Harry and Ron for that. She had left her parents for that. She had one mission and one mission alone and she had failed, in the worst way possible. It was all her fault.

"She's dead, she's dead…" the words felt like ashes in her mouth.

A girl died. A girl who was barely eleven. A first-year girl. A Hufflepuff. A Muggleborn. A girl had been killed on Hogwarts grounds. A tiny girl…

Hermione didn't even know her name. She was responsible for her and she didn't even know her name. She didn't even know whose empty eyes she had been staring at. And as she helped carry the body to the infirmary, she noticed how her arms were covered in small bruises; how her stockings had been ripped and how the back of her scalp had felt sticky and wet.

She took a glance at her hands near her own head. The blood had dried off completely and they now had a metallic smell. Blood, like hers. Muggleborn blood. And the reason behind all of this. Always because of blood.

It was her fault. Merlin, all her fault.

Harry, Ron… Please, forgive me. I failed you. I failed all of you. I'm sorry, Merlin I'm so sorry.

"I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry. Please…"

She began to cry again.

"Please, Merlin, please…" Sobbed harder "Please, make it stop, please…"

Another wave of pain, another wave of tears.

"Please… I just want it to stop…"

She gulped in some air, quivering as she looked ahead of her.

Somehow, the image of Malfoy crying came into her mind. He had cried at this very spot, sobbed so violently Hermione had thought he was going to break. Was this how he felt? Was this… was this what it was like to feel alone? To feel stripped of all hope? Was this… was this what it felt to have reached the end of it?

It's not the end… yet.

Hermione's breath halted at the voice in her head.

You can reach for it. It's right in front of you.

She stared hard at the ledge.

Yes, that's it. Don't you want it to be over?

Her knees shook.

You said it yourself… what is there to hold on to?

She felt herself getting off the floor and onto her feet.

Yes. Stop the pain. Stop the ache. You have nothing left for you here.

The voice got louder as she stepped forward.

You don't need to live with the guilt. Just reach for the end.

Her hands reached the ledge.

That's it. It will all be over soon.

She prompted herself up, balancing herself on her feet.

Yes, yes, yes. Almost.

She looked down, no light in sight.

Go ahead. Stop the pain.

"Please… pleasekillme."

She opened her arms.

Killme. Makeitstop.

Die, you mudblood bitch!

"GRANGER!"

Hermione felt herself falling backwards, as two strong hands pulled her by the waist. She yelped as her back collided with someone's chest.

No.

No!

Nonononono.

She wanted it over, she wanted it done.

"No, no, no!" she struggled to get out of their grasp "Let me go! Let me go!"

"Granger, what the fuck? Calm down!"

"NO!" she screamed hoarsely "Let me go! I want it done!"

Nonononono.

Let me go.

"Granger, it's me, it's Malfoy! Calm down!"

Malfoy?

She kicked harder, her hands untangling themselves, trying to reach for the ledge again.

Draco tried to keep her still, but she was trashing violently.

Granger, what the fuck…

"Granger, stop, ok? Please, just stop!" he tried to force her hands back.

"Let go of me, Malfoy!" she yelled again, her voice failing her when she called out his name.

"Granger! STOP!" he roared, locking her arms with his own.

"NO! I WANT IT DONE, I WANT IT OVER!" she shrieked through her tears "Please, just let me go… Please…"

Malfoy kept his hold on her, trying desperately to make her stay still, his breathing turning laboured with the effort.

Fuck, Granger. What the fuck happened to you?

"Please…" she kept sobbing "Please, make it stop…"

Malfoy brought his head against the back of her head, his hands linking themselves on her own.

"Please…"

"Hermione…" he whispered against her ear "It's ok, Hermione… It's ok…"

He began to slowly rock her, holding her still, as those painful sobs wrecked her body. She was practically screaming away her tears, almost unable to breathe.

"Shhh, Granger… Breathe, ok? Just breathe." He soothed "I'm here. I've got you. I've got you."

"Plea-please…"

"Shhh, it's ok. I'm here. I've got you. I won't let go."

Malfoy continued to rock with her, his frame cradling her into his arms.

"Shh, I'm here for you, Hermione. I've got you."

I've got you.

It took a while until Draco finally began to sense her calming down. She was still trembling violently, but her sobs had subsided. He kept shushing her, not really knowing what else to do. Comforting someone wasn't exactly something he had experience doing but he was trying his best just to get her to quiet down and breathe properly.

He had settled her on his lap as he sat on the floor of that awful tower. Damnit, Granger. What the fuck happened? He had never seen her like this before. She was usually so strong, so head-on, so powerful. She always seemed so in control… But now, as she cried her heart out, she seemed so small, so… breakable. And what the fuck had she… Fuck, Granger. What the fuck were you doing up on that ledge? What the fuck were you thinking? What could possibly have driven you to even consider that to be your only option? Fucking hell.

He tightened his hold on her, too afraid to even let her move.

He had found her out of pure luck, he wasn't even supposed to be up here tonight. He was supposed to be down in the dungeons at that sodding Slytherin new-year's party. New Year of what? Fucking idiots, celebrating what could pretty well be the last year this school was still standing intact. Celebrating for what? For fucking Voldemort to kill them all, once he had no need for them anymore? Fucking fools.

The firewhisky didn't help. He tried, Merlin knows he tried. Snape kept warning him, he kept pushing him. Draco knew he had to keep up the appearances, even though all the wanted to do was to just rot away somewhere. Rot away and just dissolve into the ground. So he drank. He drank for hours just to try and dull the ache.

Ache? More like fucking throbbing.

But Merlin knows he tried. And those fucking fools didn't even want him around that much. Too afraid of him, maybe? Maybe they already knew about Zabini, although he doubted the dark-skinned wizard had the guts to tell the story of how it all went down. Zabini didn't want the others to know how he had crumbled under Draco's Cruciatus curse, for sure. That would be too much of a disgrace. And Draco knew a thing or two about being considered a fucking failure. No, they weren't afraid of Draco. They just wanted keep their distance. He was like a disease: get too close and you might catch it too. Catch what? Whatever it was those fucking Malfoys caught to make them such dark hole. Because that was how he felt: a big, black hole of nothing. And if someone got too close… they could get sucked in.

So fuck the party, fuck all of them. He took his flask and made his way up the only place he felt welcomed; the only place he actually belonged to. Fuck the New Year, fuck his fucking life. He wasn't even supposed to be alive! Merlin knows he actually had wished for it to be over and done, sometimes. At least he didn't have to live in this fucking hell. But to actually act on it…

Merlin, Granger. Even in death you are much braver than I am. You are right, you are so fucking right. I'm a fucking coward.

And when he saw her… When he saw her, up there, on that ledge… The ledge he had looked at so many times; thought about so many times. The ledge that divided existing from non-existing; the ledge that had the power to put a stop to all this pain and torture. The ledge from this tower… When he saw her there…

Fuck, Granger. It was supposed to be me on that ledge, not you. I'm the one that ought to just… I'm the one, Granger. I'm the fucking one. Not you. You don't deserve this, any of this. I'm the one, Granger. I'm the one that should be dead. I'm the one that wants it and I'm the one that's too much of a coward to climb it up. I'm the one, Granger. Not you.

His arms clenched on her form, his fingers gripping her robes.

"It's all your fault…"

Her tiny, watery voice cut through him like a knife.

I know, Granger. I know.

"It's all your damn fault…" Hermione's fist hit him lamely on his chest.

Draco breathed through his nostrils as he closed his eyes and let her hit him.

I know, Granger.

"It's. Your. Fucking. Fault!" she hit him harder, her fist emphasizing every word.

Her body had disentangled itself from his and she was hitting him with both of her fists now.

Hermione was so angry, so angry. Why? Why had he saved her? Why? Why was he here?

"Why did you stop me? Why?" she kept hitting him, the never-ending tears still on her face. "Why did you stop me, Malfoy? It's your fault! It's all your fault!"

And he kept letting her hit him.

Why? Why wasn't he doing anything? Why wasn't he hitting back? Less than three months ago he had drawn his wand on her; he had wished her dead. Less than three months ago he was the one crying and blaming her for all that was wrong in the world. Less than three months ago he would just have pushed her off that ledge if he could. So why was he here? Why did he pull her back?

And why wasn't he saying anything!?

"She died, Malfoy! She died and I let it happen! Sh-she… she wa-was… she just…" She looked up at him, his expression serious and silent.

And that angered her even more.

"Why aren't you saying anything? Why the fuck are you here? She died! A girl died and people are dying and it's all because of your precious Voldemort and his pack and - and – and… none of this! None of this would have happened if you had just stayed put! If you would have just – just… Just let him help you! Dumbledore wanted to help you, Malfoy! He wanted to pull you from the dark place you were in. He… We…" she struggled, so many things to say at once "I could have helped you, Malfoy! I could have helped you! And now? Now it's all gone, ruined! I have nothing, nothing!"

And wasn't that what he wanted?

"Then again… that was the goal, right?" she sniffed, lowering her fists and looking down at her bloodied hands "That was what you wanted, right? See the Mudblood finally be put in her place. All of us. All the Mudbloods. Blood…" she shoved her hands in front of his face "Wasn't this what you wanted?"

He stared at her hands.

Blood.

Dried up blood.

Her hands were covered in this weird, sticky red kind of paste. Her digits were muddied with these red, almost copper coloured streaks the went all the way down past her palm and into her wrists. And it wasn't just the colour… it was the smell – metallic.

He cautiously took both her hands in his own. She quivered in confusion, letting him pull her hands to his lap. He carefully traced his fingers up and down her bloodied palms. Hermione swallowed the salt in her throat, her breath anxious, her body anticipating something, anything. Malfoy kept caressing her hands, his eyes glued to the red patterns.

They sat like that for a few long minutes, Hermione finding his touch somewhat soothing, even though her mind and body were still alert and on edge. His gaze hadn't left her hands and Hermione silently wondered what was going through his mind, while simultaneously trying to make sense of what was happening… what just happened.

She had just tried to jump of a ledge, hadn't she? She had just tried to…

Her heart leaped.

She had just tried to kill herself.

Hermione's gaze fell onto Malfoy's ducked head, as she tried to imagine what could have happened. What would have happened if he hadn't pulled her back. Merlin, he had saved her… again.

Why?

"Why?"

Malfoy looked up from her hands at her question, his fingers still grasping her palms.

"Why, Malfoy? Why did you save me?"

He knew she wasn't asking just about tonight. He knew she was also asking about the other night with Blaise. He knew she was asking why he had been crying, why he had hadn't killed her, why he had punished Zabini when he had tried to do it, why had he helped that Hufflepuff, why he had kissed her, why he had touched her and why he had stopped her from jumping tonight. It was all there, in that "why".

He gently pushed her hands towards her.

"It's just like mine."

At first, Hermione didn't comprehend the meaning of what he was saying but as she stared back at her own hands, her own filled up with blood hands, she knew. She understood. Yes, Malfoy. Blood is the same, for everyone. The colour, the smell, the taste… It is the same. For everyone. You, the little girl, Harry, Voldemort's, even me. It's all the same.

And just like that, Hermione's heart filled with hope and all that despair just became a little more bearable. Yes, just like that. Since when he had the power to do that?

She let her hands go to his face and he didn't back away when her fingers traced his features. He leaned into them and Hermione could feel the tears forming in his own eyes.

More hope. Hope that if Malfoy had seen it, more people could. More people would. And Hermione didn't shy away from it. And as she was leaning towards him, as her lips softly touched his, her heart beating rapidly, she knew.

She cared for Draco Malfoy. And she would never give up on anything ever again.


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