Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Draco woke from his sound slumber and was surprised to hear Hermione in the bathroom. He was surprised because of the fact that he had to wake her up nearly every day of the year so far. When he heard that Hermione was finished, he dragged himself out from under his warm covers and got dressed.
He then went to the bathroom, washed his hands, brushed his hair and teeth and headed to breakfast, grabbing his bag as he left.
When he entered the Great Hall, he glanced toward Hermione, who was happily chatting with her friends. It looked as though Weasley had nearly choked on one of the many items in his rather large mouth for what he thought was about the fifth time this year. His face was a strange shade of red that matched his fiery hair. From embarrassment, Draco presumed. Draco rolled his eyes and sat beside Pansy Parkinson, inching as far away from her as possible so that he had pushed Blaise even further down the table. Ronald Weasley was an idiot, he verified for what seemed to be the millionth time.
He was dimly aware of Pansy's shrill voice in his ear as he watched Hermione actually eat a muffin. He was relieved that she had decided to eat of her own accord because the idea of stuffing muffins in his pockets for later was not very appealing to him.
Hermione had noticed his gaze upon her and she looked back to him with a grin. This gesture was not missed by Draco, though Hermione tried valiantly to cover it with an exaggurated bite of her muffin. He wondered if she had actually done something to backup her declaration the previous night. He thought not. She didn't have it in her.
"Drakie-Poo," said Pansy, who had somehow managed to get even closer to him, "why do your hands look like that?" He gave a sigh of frustration as he attempted to disentangle himself from her arms. Oh, how he hated her. He never should've taken her to the Yule Ball in their 4th year. Biggest mistake of his life.
"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that Parkinson," he muttered. "And my hands always look like thi-" He had cut himself off, for he had actually looked at his hands, which were a strange shade of blue and getting darker. He looked to Hermione, who made no effort to hide her amusement, and he began to laugh. And he had thought that she wouldn't go through with her threat.
Draco didn't bother attempting to wash the colour off. It was Hermione's work; nothing would get it off. The time came for classes, and he sat through them wordlessly, ignoring the snickers from behind him, but being immensely thankful that Hermione sat next to him in all their classes. This made it much easier to glare menacingly at her.
As the day wore on, Draco's hands continued to change colour, going from blue to purple to orange to pink, and by the time lunch had come, they had even progressed to a vibrant shade of magenta. He decided then that he would wait for Hermione in their dorms so that she could take it off. He hated magenta.
"What an unfortunate colour your hands are," he heard her say from across the room as she walked in. He was quick to glare at her. "I hate magenta."
"Would you believe me if I said that you weren't alone?" he asked Hermione, who was still grinning. "When will this come off?"
"Why tomorrow, of course." Draco gave a sigh of relief. "And then it'll go to your feet, then your legs and arms, and then eventually to your face."
"Hell no, take it off!"
"Oh, I see we've hit a touchy spot," said Hermione, walking closer to Draco, "your image."
"I don't think that that's a touchy spot for just me," grumbled Draco. "Who wants any part of their body to be magenta?"
"Your right, I wouldn't wish that on any undeserving person. I think you've had enough punishment." That said, she grabbed his hands and mumbled something under her breath, the colour vanishing instantly.
"What was that you said?" asked Draco in curiosity.
"Like I'd tell you. What if I decide to use it again?"
"You wouldn't."
"I would," she threatened and they began to laugh.
"C'mon, we'd better go before your bodyguards think that I've kidnapped you."
"Too true. Lets go." They headed to the portrait that led to the halls and Draco spoke rather severely.
"You wouldn't really, would you?"
"Oh, I would Draco, I would."
Hermione walked into the Great Hall and went to her seat next to Harry and Ron and across from Ginny. A couple of days had passed and she was still healthy enough, and completely unscathed.
"Hey 'Mione," said Harry with a grin, "we were starting to think you had fallen out a window you took so long." Of course, in the past couple of days, neither Harry nor Ron had forgotten about Hermione falling down the stairs because she was in a hurry to get to class early.
"You had better watch it Harry," she retorted, "or you're going to find yourself at the bottom of some stairs with nobody to help you, and you'll have no one to blame but yourself."
"Better watch out mate," said Ron, "or she just might be the reason you're at the bottom of the stairs." This received a playful slap on the arm from Hermione.
"I would never!" she exclaimed. "I'm way too nice to do that!"
"She calls this nice?" questioned Ron skeptically. "I'd hate to see what she calls 'mean.'"
"C'mon guys," rushed Hermione, "we're going to be late for class."
"But I'm not don't yet Mione."
"Well then Ronald, perhaps you should put less food on your plate. Now lets go." That said they left for defense against the dark arts where they received their fourth essay for the day. At least she would have a valid reason for missing the Hogsmead trip on Saturday.
The last few classes passed without event and dinner came quickly. Hermione found herself to have no appetite, however, and she retired to her room early with the excuse that she should get a head start on her essays. When she arrived in the common room, Draco was waiting for her, a turkey sandwich on the table before him.
"Of course," she muttered, "you would bring food. I'm really not hungry Draco. I couldn't possibly eat."
"Oh, I guessed as much," he replied.
"Then why-"
"It's just incase you decide that you are in fact hungry enough to stop from starving yourself, whenever that may be." She rolled her eyes and went to her desk. As she took her books out, she commented on his expectant gaze that was undoubtedly still on her.
"What? I promise I'll eat it." Of course, she had no intention of eating the sandwich.
"Oh, its nothing. I was just thinking of those poor house elves, forced to look at that mixed and mangled heap of…stuff that had once been food before you put it on your plate thinking 'I'll eat this.'"
Hermione, exasperated, stood from the desk chair that she had just sat in, and stomped to the turkey sandwich, snatched it off the plate and took a rather large, exaggerated bite of it, chewed and swallowed.
"There," she said, "happy?"
"Immensely. Now if you would be so kind as to finish that lovely sandwich that I put so much time and effort into preparing, I would be ecstatic." Hermione glared meaningfully at him and ate her sandwich dutifully. As she finished her last bite, she noticed that Draco's eyes were still on her.
"What?" she asked, unnerved by the way he was looking at her.
"What is it that you're worrying about?" he asked gently. Of course he would notice that she was worried, thought Hermione. He always seemed to notice when something was wrong. Though the only difference this time was that she wasn't just worried, she was scared.
"Bad news," she answered honestly. Why bother trying to hide it? He would notice anyway. The fact that she had a painful attack a couple days previously scared her. She feared that the end of her life was approaching sooner than any of them had expected. She caught Draco's frown and realized that he too, was worried for her, and for a moment, she found herself wanting to comfort him, to make his pain stop.
"I'm sure it'll be fine though," she added, her eyes averted. She didn't want to show him the lie in her eyes, though knowing Draco; he already knew that she was lying to him.
"You know what I think?" he finally asked. "I think you're scared. I think that you're trying to give comfort to the one who doesn't need it. I think you're in more pain that you're letting on, after all, this is the year that you're saying goodbye to all of your friends through lies. But most of all, I think you're trying too hard. You shouldn't be the one to tell people that you're fine, that you'll make it through this. You shouldn't have to be alone anymore either. I'm here for you Hermione, you can come to me."
"Draco I-"
"Now stop lying to me. Stop trying to convince me that you're fine when we both know you're scared out of your mind." Draco then turned to leave, but Hermione reached out and grabbed hold of his shirtsleeve, stopping his progress.
"Please," she said quietly, "don't go Draco." He could hear the stress and sadness in her voice and he turned to face her. "I'm scared Draco. I don't know what's going to happen at the doctors on Saturday, but I'm afraid to go because somehow, I know it's going to be bad news that they give me."
Draco, sensing hermiones need for comfort, closed the distance between them and took her in his arms.
"No matter what happens tomorrow," he said, careful not to provide false hope, "I'll be here for you."
"You wont leave me alone?" she asked, the quaver in her voice showing just how vulnerable she was.
"Never," he vowed, knowing as he spoke that it was the truth, because somewhere along the way, he had lost himself to her. Though she may not have realized it just yet, she held him captive.