Hermione listened without really hearing as Draco said the next words. His face was only partially illuminated with the dimming light; and with Hermione sitting this close, her head on her hand as she watched his mouth move up and down, she found herself analysing his face. His lips were slightly chapped and dry, so much so that he kept occasionally licking his lips with his tongue as he spoke, pausing only to drink his tea. His hair was un-kept, and the heavy bags around his lidded eyes suggested a strong lack of sleep; the blonde stubble on his cheeks and around his mouth only highlighting the fact. He looked only a shadow of his former, well kept and tidy self-there was no longer any product in his hair, no porcelain skin, no perfectly sharpen eyebrows. No, everything was out of place, he used to be sharp and bold, now he just looked...tired? Even his baggy, unwashed, clothes suggested that just had no energy anymore. Hermione couldn't help but feel sorry for him as he recounted his story.

Draco Malfoy had cancer. She didn't exactly know how to react, so when the quiet but bold words escaped his lips, she only frowned slightly-forcing herself to keep in a sigh of sympathy at the revelation.

He had been told to seek help from muggles; to forget his magic and blood and live the rest of his life as a muggle, where he could get the treatment he needed.

Turns out wizards can't solve everything.

In fact, Draco told Hermione of how long it had taken the healers to find out what was wrong with him. He hadn't been without pain in years. His head woke him up every night, and there was only a certain number of times a man could fall over in the street on completely of his own report without knowing he had to seek help. So he did, and yet no one in St. Mungo's had any idea what was wrong with him. At first they assumed it was some repercussion of The Dark Mark, but no one else had a problem, and then they tried reversing hexes and giving him all sorts potions he couldn't even pronounce that just made it worse, and then they did a test that had been brought in by a muggle born to try out on him. And that proved it. Well, they didn't know what exactly it meant-so they got in a muggle doctor which they had to memory charm afterwards, but they found out in the end. And now there was nothing they could do to help him. Except advise he got help from muggles.

And Granger was his last hope. No one else had time for him, no one else wanted the mess, and as he sat at her kitchen table, draining the dregs of his cold tea and asking for her help, he knew deep down that she wouldn't have him. No room at the inn. Too much to deal with. Not her problem.

There was even something in her eyes when she nodded her head very slowly and said she would help him. The words wouldn't even register as he searched her face, wanting nothing more than for the witch to say no. This was embarrassing for him, and it was obviously embarrassing for her-neither of them could look the other in the eye-so why was she agreeing? Why would /she/ help /him/?

"...I'll do the best I can, at least." Hermione finished nervously, looking him dead in the eye for the first time that night; her stomach quavering slightly as she did so.
"Why?" Draco asked timidly, not quite meeting her gaze. He wanted to leave. He needed to get out of there. The pain was coming back with the humiliation and he could feel his face become hotter, and he suddenly realised how desperate he looked and sounded.
"Because no matter what's happened in the past, no one deserves to go through anything alone."
"I'm not alone!" Draco shouted quickly at his defence; he had heard the words so many times in his own head, but hearing them out loud made all the difference. Yet even he could here the obvious doubt in his own counter argument.
"Okay, not alone, but you need someone's help, and if I am the only person on your list left, then I won't throw you out."

In truth he was alone, nobody, not even his family, wanted to know him anymore-a pureblood sentenced to a short life seeking the help from muggles didn't go down particularly well with the only few people he had only ever had in the world. Even his fiancé had left him, his life was a mess, and hearing these words of kindness that were so unusual to here, it was warming, and it took all he could not to grab her with two hands and shove her into a bone crushing hug just there and then, over the table.

His mouth suddenly became very dry as all the air drained out of him, he didn't know what to say. Why was she being so kind? It suddenly dawned on him that he would never have done the same for her if it was the other way around, and he really couldn't accept it. Could he?
"I'm sorry it's led to this." Hermione whispered the words into her lap, too afraid to say them out loud-but she needed Malfoy to know she wouldn't tolerate such in-compassion.
"I'm sorry I had to ask you." He said, ashamed at how sorry he actually was, it was a lot to deal with-especially from someone who used to hate him.

"What would happen if I didn't help you?" Asked Hermione, looking up at him once more.
"What would happen? I don't know really-" Malfoy gulped, letting the question sink in before he carried on with his improvised answer "-I'd probably just be left to die."
Instead of any words forming in Hermione's now dry mouth, a little 'o' was formed with her lips, giving her a very sympathetic expression.
"Don't look at me like that!" Draco snapped, rounding on the muggleborn with a swift growl as he grabbed tight, with two hands, onto the mug infront of him incase he lashed out at her.
"I'm...I'm sorry..." Hermione trailed off, quickly shutting her mouth as she realised how dumb the expression must have looked.

"What are you sorry for?" Draco growled again, turning his head back to the table, where he continued to nurse his mug as something to do with his hands.
Hermione's first answer was going to be for looking at him like she was a two year old seeing a friend get a toy taken off them, but as she was about to say so, she realised that wasn't what he meant. His face was contorted now, and although he was turned as fully as he could away from her without actually moving the chair, she could tell that he was in pain-both emotionally and physically. He looked as though he had been slapped as he scrunched up his eyes and have a sharp intake of breath, gently releasing it as he looked up at the ceiling-daring himself not to cry as he tried to get the tears back into his eyes. No use, he quickly turned his chair fully away from her so he was no longer facing the sympathetic mudblood. No one had ever cared before. Why was she doing this?

"I'm-I'm sorry that you've been treated this way. And I'm sorry it's taken you to come to me for help. I'm sorry for having hesitations about helping you. I'm sorry for the fact that you've got some stupid illness when I don't believe you deserve it." Hermione's soft words were whispered only really to herself, but Draco heard them loud and clear, and they made his chest tight and his face hotter as more tears allowed themselves to talk against his will. It was at that moment when he felt a hand on his shoulder, it was only a light touch, but it was the first human touch he had had since he was diagnosed.

Hermione felt his shoulders shake as she squeezed him more tightly, reassuring him that she was there. She was his last resort, his only resort left; and she would have said yes even if she was the first he had turned to. He really didn't deserve to die, not alone like this, yes he had done terrible things but not nearly as bad as he could have done.

"Thankyou." He managed to whimper out as the almost silent sobbing subsided.
"What are you saying that for?" Hermione smirked from behind him, squeezing his shoulder one last time before standing up and going over to the counter to pour out some more tea.
"Just thankyou for everything." He turned to face her, wiping his nose as he watched her hurry about the kitchen making tea and putting biscuits and some cake onto a plate. The rain had stopped now to only a slight drizzle, and the light was coming up slowly as the night slowly crept into morning.