A/N. Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for all those wonderful reviews. There are 12 so far, but each one puts a smile on my face every time I read it. It makes me incredibly happy to know you guys are enjoying my story. I'll keep trying my best to make it good for all of my readers.

A lot of you guys are requesting a chapter in Hermione's POV. I've thought it over already, and I know what I'm going to do. It might not be exactly what you asked for, but it fits into the storyline and I rather like what I've plotted out in my head. Of course, if it displeases you guys, you can always tell me. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Here's the next chapter! Enjoy. The request chapter is coming up in a bit.

xxxxx

Draco pored over the diary entries throughout the rest of the day. He read them slowly; savoring each word, each space, because embedded in the ink was the heart of the woman he had loved for almost all his life. They had both been so naïve at Hogwarts, not realizing how they had come to respect each other through schoolyard animosity. They had been equals in their year as well as rivals, through an unspoken competition that had taken commenced from the day she'd punched him in the face. They'd continually try to best each other; Draco always having the upper hand in Potions and Dark Arts, Hermione holding the honors in the rest. He chuckled at how stubborn they'd been, both of them, clinging on to hatred. Not realizing that they'd slowly learned to respect each other, then care, then fall in love.

Love. Draco glanced down at the thin, golden band on his left ring finger. He had never taken it off, not even in the shower. Hermione had always laughed at his strict standards when it came to relationships, but Draco had been raised in elite wizard circles, and the way he acted was simply born from what he'd been told. Opening doors for her, pulling back her chair, holding her hand as she left the car, never taking off his ring –that was how he'd been taught to treat the person he loved. She had laughed and called him old-fashioned, but had loved him for it anyway. She had loved everything about him.

No, not loved. Love. She still loves me, he thought. In present tense. But for some reason, no matter how many times he told himself that, he could never quite completely believe it. Harry had told him that his newfound mistrust of Hermione was understandable, since half the time she still thought they were in school, or didn't even recognize him at all. But it killed Draco inside, the way he sometimes felt repulsed by her madness, how reluctant he'd become to visit her. Incurably insane or not, she was his wife, his Hermione. He loved her. I love her. His hand clenched, the wedding ring standing out against the white of his skin.

He quickly turned his attention back to the diary, shifting his thoughts from ones that made his heart feel constricted with self-hatred. There had to be some clue in here somewhere, something to bring Hermione back to him. Desperately he searched the words, hoping for some mention of why she'd left. But every page only held pain from the war. Death. Destruction. Silence. Loneliness. Draco almost threw the diary away. He knew that he was being irrational, but he couldn't help feeling angry toward Hermione. Not the one lying in the hospital bed, but the one who had written this, who had been perfectly sane, who had left him without a word and come back not herself.

But just as he'd savagely flipped to another page, a word caught his eye. Home. It stood out among the other words he'd read, words of pain. He flipped back to the start of the entry, skimmed over it, his breath catching as he realized what day it spoke of. The dying sunlight glinted on his wedding ring as he gripped the diary tighter and read.

xxxxx

Today we were awoken very early in the morning by a hammering on the door. Or, the rest of the house was. I was awake, having been unable to sleep these past few weeks. I'm always haunted by the same nightmare.

We're running through a small patch of forest. Harry's ahead, holding his wand aloft, his face taut with fear and anger and desperation. Ginny's beside me, determinedly not looking at me. Fred and George are behind me, and Bill's bringing up the rear. So far, no one's told me where we are or why we're here. We're all just running.

Suddenly, Harry brings us to a halt. Through the trees we spot a clearing of sorts. There are people gathered in it, wearing dark robes and masks. Death Eaters. Silently, we cast a Disillusionment charm on ourselves. It's crude, but in the darkness, it'll be enough. We creep up to the clearing, peer through the trees.

Lucius Malfoy stands closest to the center of the clearing, standing before a prone figure on the ground. I can't see very clearly, but the hair seems to be brown, or else a very dirty blonde. The figure isn't moving. Lucius is making a speech about the fate that awaits Mudbloods and anyone who sides with them. I can't see the faces of our group, but I can feel the tension. Somehow, I realize this is why we're here.

Lucius lowers his wand and points it at the figure, which begins to scream and writhe on the ground. I almost cry out then, but a hand encircles my wrist, and I feel the familiar charm bracelet of Ginny, and I somehow manage to keep silent. The Death Eaters laugh and some point their wands at the figure and the screaming gets higher. The voice sounds unbearably familiar. Gray, something to do with gray. In my fear I can't seem to remember.

Something next to me shifts and the leaves crackle and immediately, every Death Eater turns to look in our direction. I can't stifle a sharp intake of breath, and all their wands are now trained on us. Ginny's arm tightens around my wrist. I crane my neck, try to get a look at who they've been torturing, but they're slowly advancing now, wands at ready, so I can't see. I hear Harry's voice, so quiet that if I hadn't been waiting for it I would never have heard it. He's commanding an attack. My hand shakes as I reach into my pocket for my own wand. I didn't expect this.

A Stunning Spell shoots through the trees and catches Lucius Malfoy right in the chest. He slumps over, and the Death Eaters abandon their caution and shoot spells into the trees. A jet of green light narrowly misses me and for a moment I'm frozen in fear. Then I hear a low moan, in that familiar voice again, and I run into the clearing.

Several Death Eaters are already down. Our Disillusionment Charms have provided some advantage, though they can probably still see our outlines in the light. A few flee through the trees, and the remaining two stand their ground, back to back. Suddenly, one of them freezes and topples over. A Full Body Bind. The other one looks around, dropping his hand slightly. None of us attack. They're probably all doing what I am –watching him carefully. He backs up, his wand getting lower, and the backs of his heels touch the figure on the ground. The mask on his face covers his eyes but we all see the savage grin that breaks out on his face and a jet of green light erupts from the end of his wand and Harry's yelling and another jet of green light comes out of nowhere and the Death Eater is falling, the smile still on his face, and I'm racing toward the figure on the ground, desperate to see its face-

-and gray eyes stare lifelessly up at me. Stormy gray eyes.

I collapse on his chest, sobbing, forgetting everything.

Draco.

Someone was calling his name downstairs. I left the room and hurried down to the living room and my heart nearly gave out right there and then. It was as if my nightmare had come true. Draco was lying on the couch, completely motionless, Bill sitting on the low coffee table across him, a nasty scar on his arm. My eyes went from him to Draco to him to Draco. My breath caught in my chest. I couldn't move. I couldn't bring myself to take another step. I couldn't bear to reach his side and find those gray eyes staring up at me, as lifeless as they had been in my dream. My heart felt like it was being ravaged and I couldn't breathe right and I realized that if Draco were to die, I would not be able to move on or keep living. I couldn't lose him. I love him. More than Harry, more than my family, more than Ron, even. After all this time, I know now. I love Draco.

Ginny looked up from where she was, kneeling in front of the couch, holding cloth to Draco's arm. It was only then that I registered the countless scratches on his emaciated body, some still bleeding. There was one that looked really bad, running from his forehead to his jaw line, down the right side of his face. Wordlessly, Ginny stood, one hand still pressing the cloth down, and gave me a tiny nod. My mind was still unable to comprehend what was happening, but my feet moved robotically toward the couch. I knelt where Ginny had been; put my hands on the cloth, pressed down. I could feel the warmth of his blood through the cloth. From where I was, I could see his chest move, almost imperceptively. (*) He was alive. I repeated that over and over in my head, like a mantra. Draco was alive. Is alive. Alive.

Harry entered the living room carrying a small bottle. He uncorked it, and I recognized the scent of dittany. He uncorked it and made to pour it on Draco's wounds, but my arm moved of its own accord and stopped him. I took the bottle from him and applied it myself. Slowly, the scars began to heal. His skin knit itself together, blood congealed and dried and scabbed and flaked off. I watched the scar on his face close, heal, fade, leaving only the thinnest of white lines, like gossamer and spider web. The whole time, Bill was explaining what happened.

He had heard a commotion outside the house he and Fleur stayed in. Getting up, he'd gone downstairs and peeked out the window. Flashes of light indicating magical combat were coming from just past the magical border of their house. Grabbing his wand, he went outside to check what was going on.

It had been Draco. He'd been ambushed by Death Eaters and, not wanting to risk leading them to our location, had Apparated to the next safe place he could think of –Bill's house. But the Death Eaters had managed to follow him somehow, and weak from their initial attack, he'd been cornered, already badly wounded by the time Bill got to them. Since he'd safe inside the magical borders they couldn't hex him much, but rather than risk being hit by a Killing Curse, Bill had stunned the lot, bound them together, and left them with Fleur and Charlie to take to the Ministry. As soon as he'd told them what to do, he'd taken Draco and brought him here.

We were all listening like we were in some horrible trance. I didn't even notice I was crying until a hand gently reached up and brushed a tear from my cheek. Startled, I jerked around and saw that Draco had awoken. He tried to smile at me but it didn't come out quite right –it looked more like a grimace. My heart broke at the sight of him –wounds still healing, bruises still fading, hair a mess and blood covering his clothes, but still trying to smile. He was trying so hard to be strong. Everything came crashing down on me: the pain in my heart, the warmth of his blood on my fingers, the knowledge that he'd been so close to death. His silvery eyes stared up at me; eyes like a Pensieve, clouded with pain. Suddenly, without even thinking, with only wild abandon in my heart, I leaned over and kissed him. His lips were dry and tasted salty and metallic and for a moment, I had this irrational, laughable fear that he would crumble to dust and die beneath my kiss.

"Stay here," I said, drawing away. He only nodded, but the faint glimmers of happiness were in his eyes. For the first time in months, Grimmauld Place felt a little bit closer to home.

xxxxx

Draco unconsciously lifted a hand to the side of his face. The scar was still there, the faintest of whites, a thin line running down from temple to jaw. Hardly anyone noticed it, especially nowadays since he was always so pale. Hermione had theorized it had been made by a dark curse, but a mild one. Scars like those never fully heal. Most of the time he never really thought about it, sometimes even forgot it was there. But during heated nights with Hermione she would always kiss the scar, reminding him she loved every part of him, even the flaws, and he would remember.

He turned his thoughts back to the entry. So that had been when she'd realized to whom her heart had belonged. Draco had always wondered. She never answered him when he'd ask her when she'd fallen in love with him. She'd always say something different, or else dodge the question. Eventually he'd given up asking, but his curiosity had never really died. And now he knew.

He closed the diary, set it to his bedside table, curled up and put his head to his knees. Everything suddenly felt so heavy, so painful, so suffocating. He remembered that night clearly: the ambush, the desperate Apparition, the fight that ensued after. He'd nearly passed out from the pain of his wounds. Then Bill had shown up and everything had gone blank. The next thing he knew, he was waking up to Hermione's tear-streaked face.

He thought back to that morning, lying on the couch, makeshift bandages pressed to his wounds. He thought about Hermione now, lying on a hospital bed, half the time delirious. A sob hitched in his throat, but no tears came out. His eyes were painfully, painfully dry. He looked at the pages he'd just read and wondered for the hundredth time if he would ever find anything in those pages-

-when something clicked into his head.

Eyes like a Pensieve.

He leaped out of bed, raced toward the fireplace. He needed to speak to Harry.

xxxxx

A/N. You guys can probably guess where this is going to go. I didn't want to do a Hermione POV chapter because it would seem so random and it wouldn't really fit, but then I thought of this and bingo! Compromise. I'll try to update soon so you guys can see… whatever it is Draco and Harry will see.

Was this chapter okay? Was Hermione's realization too sudden and weird? Did the whole Pensieve thing seem forced? Did the plot suddenly suck? Do you hate me now? (Please no. Haha.) R&R, please and thank you!