A/N: Hello, all! Thank you to all the reviews- I've never written a story before, and five reviews is a good start! I hope you enjoy this chapter- yes, two in one day! I feel terrible about the time it took to upload chapter two, so here is chapter three! This won't be a long story, but I don't want to push Draco and Hermione into a relationship sooner than they would allow. Meh, you know what I mean! Plus, it will be worth the wait :)
JKR owns EVERYTHING- I am merely a poor student, writing to relieve stress. :)
Chapter Three- The Space Between
Hermione rubbed her temples as she paused in her reading. Curled up on the couch with a blanket thrown over her legs, she had immersed herself into the world of Charlotte Bronte with a hot cup of tea after leaving Draco to rest. She closed her eyes briefly and leaned her head against the back of the couch, letting out a soft sigh.
How things had changed. The war was over, and Voldemort was defeated. They were finally free from the fear that had gripped the Wizarding World for so long. So many sleepless nights, so many near-death experiences, so many deaths…
The faces passed before her mind's eye- Fred, Mad-Eye Moody, Remus, Tonks, Colin Creevey, his body small in death. Lavender had been bitten by Fenrir Greyback, her body broken and still in a coma in St. Mungos; they had yet to see if she would change into a werewolf or not.
Hermione's eyes filled at the thought of Dean Thomas, his head in his hands, sobbing as his girlfriend lay still in her hospital bed, wrapped in bandages, the blood still seeping through the gauze. Her heart ached for little Teddy Lupin, who would never know his own parents. Just like Harry…
Harry was finally free. He was free to love Ginny as he always had, free to live his life without the constant threat of the Dark Lord hovering over his head. He was truly the Boy Who Lived, and he was the hero of the Wizarding World. Ron, who was finally getting some of his own fame, was finally feeling appreciated and important. Harry couldn't have done it without him, and Hermione, but she didn't want the credit, or the attention.
The world was starting to heal, albeit slowly. The Weasleys were in shambles; Molly spent most of her time crying, distraught over the loss of her son and the sudden return of another. Percy was also upset; he had been with Fred when he had died.
George was a wreck, and in the weeks since the Final Battle he hadn't gotten out of his bed, just lay there, staring unseeingly at a picture of the him and his twin, their arms around each other, grinning and waving. Ginny was quiet, a steel heart in her chest. She had not cried for her brother's death, and Hermione and Harry were waiting for the explosion.
Ron had wept and grieved, and was slowly beginning to show signs of improvement.
Hermione had sent for her parents in Australia, and set their memories straight. They had helped her set up an apartment ten miles from their home outside of London, and she was currently laying low, planning on getting a job soon. Everything was working out.
She glanced at the bedroom door that stood ajar on the other side of the living room. Then Draco Malfoy had fallen into her lap. The day after the Final Battle, the Order, along with Harry and Hermione, had raided Malfoy Manor, and discovered Bellatrix- who had been conspicuously absent from the fight the day earlier- had been torturing her nephew to death. The image was vividly imprinted on her mind's eye forever; Draco had been laying there, in a pool of blood, foaming at the mouth, his eyes vacant as his body was wracked with pain. He had been raped, beaten, and burned. His silver hair was dark with blood, and a keening noise had escaped his cracked lips as Hermione had hurried over to him, her heart breaking.
No one deserved that torture- not even Draco Malfoy.
A tear rolled down her cheek as she remembered. The Order had housed Draco at headquarters, Hermione keeping a watchful eye on the broken boy. He had slept for three weeks, as his wounds slowly healed. Hermione stretched his legs and arms to keep him from getting bedsores, and spoke softly to him, willing him to open his eyes, but he never did.
Harry had suggested she take him to her apartment. She had agreed, and had housed the sleeping boy for two weeks, before his sudden awakening today. He had seemed different at first, vulnerable. The war had taken a lot out of him, too.
He was thin, too thin. His ribs jutted out from his pale skin, and his eyes held a haunted look. He had put the wall back up, of course, upon realizing Hermione Granger had saved his life. It hurt her, in a way- after everything they had been through, childhood grudges could hold strong, even as the entire world changed.
Draco was free of charges; his aunt made it clear he was nothing but a disgrace to the Dark Lord, and that he had not killed Dumbledore.
Hermione had been at her trial, had watched Bellatrix receive the kiss, the Dementor sucking her soul out, caressing her face with its skeleton hands.
How Bellatrix had screamed.
Harry had been grim with satisfaction; the death of his godfather was still fresh, even two years later. Bellatrix embodied evil for Harry- the deaths of everyone he loved were avenged in the death of Sirius's cousin. Justice was served.
Hermione startled as she heard a hoarse yell, throwing her book on the floor and running towards Draco's room, her want held at the ready. She burst through the door, ready to hex anything that moved, when she saw Draco thrashing on his bed, back against the wall, flailing wildly.
Flicking the lights on, she gripped his wrists, trying to calm him. His eyes were wide, unseeing. "No, no no, not this, anything but this!" he whispered frantically, trembling violently.
"Draco! Can you hear me? Draco, it's Hermione, you're safe, remember?" she tried to explain, but he acted as if he never heard her. She freed one wrist and he started flailing again, catching her lip and smacking her pretty hard.
Hermione's head snapped to the left, her eyes wide with pain. She felt her lip with her tongue, felt the blood already gathering there. She lifted her hand and placed it on his face, and immediately he calmed, his eyes blinking slowly, gradually focusing on her face.
"Draco, can you hear me?" she whispered, her thumb stroking his face softly. He nodded, gray eyes finally seeing her. "Granger?" he sounded confused.
She nodded. "Hi, Draco. You're in my apartment, remember? You woke up earlier today, but have been sleeping for five weeks. We rescued you from your aunt, remember?"
He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "I was sure I was going to die." His voice was soft, and Hermione had to strain to hear him. Her eyes ached with emotion; the urge was strong to cry, but she held it in check. This was the real Draco, not that tough bully in school. She wanted to hold onto him as long as she could.
"You're safe now. I've got you." She whispered this, her thumb still stroking his face. He blinked, and really saw her. He frowned when he saw her lip.
"You're bleeding." He moved his hand and wiped the thin trail of blood off of her chin.
"I'm fine. It doesn't even hurt." She lied as her lip began to throb harder.
His eyes became unfocused again at the sight of blood on his fingers. He abruptly pulled away from Hermione, his face a cold mask, wrapping an arm around his thin body.
"Don't ask me about it. I never want to talk about it." His voice was firm, sharp, reverting back to the Draco Malfoy of old. He transformed back into the rude pompous slime ball he used to be. He turned back to eye her disdainfully.
"Regardless, I wouldn't want to talk to some lowly Mudblood like you." He sniffed. "I have friends for that."
Hermione froze as the slur crossed his lips. Mudblood, her favorite word. She was surprised at how hurtful it was, even though she had been hearing it for years. The naïve little girl that still resided in a small part of her brain had hoped that after saving his life, Draco Malfoy would leave that insult in the past, where it belonged.
After all the evil she had seen, being degraded still broke her heart.
She stood quickly, heading for the door as he finished speaking. She paused and turned back, one hand on the doorframe, the other on the doorknob. "For your information, Malfoy, all of your friends were either killed in battle, convicted and sentenced to life in Azkaban, of given the kiss." Her eyes were hard, cloudy with tears. "And don't worry, this Mudblood wouldn't ask you anything, anyway."
She slammed the door behind her, so hard the room shook.
Draco stood and crossed to the window, staring out at the starless sky. All his friends were dead or imprisoned? Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, Zabini…
He honestly felt nothing; friends were merely pawns to advance your standing in life. Pureblooded wizards had friends to get them further in life, that was it. What else were friends good for, other than that?
These thoughts brought him to his father and mother. Narcissa was probably fine, enjoying the air and shopping in France while Lucius rotted away in Azkaban. Or had he received the kiss from the Dementors? He had already escaped them once; Draco doubted he would have been given a second chance. Good riddance, in his opinion.
Who did he have left? Draco realized he was alone in the world.
This thought brought a strange feeling to his stomach. It was heavy and uncomfortable, and it increased when he thought of how he had just spoken to Hermione Granger, who had gone out of her way to save his life. Was this guilt? Was he remorseful for the pain he had just caused her?
He had seen the way her eyes had emptied, and the hurt had filled them, for only a second, before they turned into liquid amber. There had been fire in them.
He had said the words to hurt her; he had meant to cause pain. Who did she think she was, saving him? Did she expect him to spill his guts? He didn't owe her that! He owed her nothing!
Draco slammed his fist into the wall, breathing harshly.
It was a lie. A damned lie. He owed Hermione Granger everything, and he hated it. How could he owe a muggleborn, a girl, the best friend of the Boy Who Wouldn't Die. He was in her debt, and sadly, being a jackass couldn't change that.
His pride couldn't bring him to admit it to himself. His apology earlier had nothing to do with pride; it had been a reaction, to find out he wasn't dead. He had been shocked with the identity of his hero and that had made him utter those words forbidden to a Malfoy.
He was restless. He crossed the room in three long strides, dressed in only in loose fitting shorts, and wrenched the door open.
The apartment was silent, and dark. There was a light on to the left of his door, and Draco glanced towards it, taking in the small kitchen, and the living room he had walked into. There was a couch and an armchair, two lamps, and an entertainment center with a small telefision (at least, that's what Draco thought it was called). Pictures covered the walls, photos of Harry and Ron, waving, stills of her parents, he assumed (a rather round man and a thin woman with thick curls), and other people that were important in Hermione's life.
There were two doors down a small hallway to the right of the living room. One was a small bathroom; it was clean, a toothbrush and bottle of lotion the only things on the counter. The other door was shut, and Draco assumed it was Hermione's bedroom. He turned the knob, for curiosity's sake, and was mildly surprised when it swung open silently.
The room was dark, faint moonlight hitting the foot of the bed. She was curled up in the middle of it, surrounded by covers, her curly hair splayed on the pillow next to her. Her face was relaxed and peaceful in the dim light. She looked so small, lying there. Draco felt a strange tug in his chest, almost like a muscle twinge.
He stared at her, surprised at how calm he suddenly felt. What was this? He felt strange; Draco Malfoy wasn't one for emotions, and suddenly he was having all these feelings. Feelings were for the weak, his father had always said.
And look where that got him.
"What are you doing in here, Malfoy?" Her voice was loud in the silence. He jumped at the sound, and felt his face flush. Malfoys don't blush! His mind screamed.
"What, worried I'd murder you in your sleep, Granger?" at least he sounded normal.
She snorted and rolled over, propping her head on her arm. Her eyes were steady, meeting his unwaveringly. "The thought never crossed my mind, Malfoy. I'm sure you used to have servants to do that for you. Without them, you wouldn't know how to kill. Plus, you have no wand."
He rolled his eyes. "Good reasoning, Gryffindork."
She sat up and glared. "If you have something important to say, then say it. Otherwise, get the hell out of here, or I will lock you in your bedroom." She raised an eyebrow.
Draco was struck dumb for a second. Her hair was flowing around her head in waves, the curls cascading over one shoulder. Her eyes were amber in the darkness, for some reason clearly visible in the faint light. Her mouth was cast in shadow, so he couldn't see her faint smirk.
"Cat got your tongue, Malfoy?" He blinked hard, the moment broken.
"I…the light…" he abruptly turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him, his eyes wide.
What just happened?