Draco began visiting her every night.
One night they argued about pets.
"Fredrick, my first cat, died of old age."
Draco sputtered a laugh, "Fredrick? You couldn't even pick an English name for him?"
Hermione, turning her nose up, "I didn't name him, thank you very much. Though, I did name my first dog Vlad."
Draco sputtered some more, unable to form words.
"Hey! I had heard the name somewhere and it stuck with me okay! My parents laughed a bit but indulged me! What about you? What did you name your first pet?" She spat back at him, mildly offended at his near laughter.
"It was a stray cat I would feed table scraps, I called him Delictus," Draco stretched out, legs nearly touching the bed.
He glanced at Hermione, her face scrunched up in confusion. "You named your cat Pet?"
He glared at her, "You're one to talk, Vlad."
She laughed, and the conversation continued.
The following night she spoke of her favorite childhood toy. Draco thought of his own, a small wooden dragon from his grandmother. His father had taken it away when he was eight, claiming he was too old for toys. Draco had hidden it under the floorboards of his room after searching the manor for it.
Saturday night Draco crept in later than normal, detained by Death Eater meetings. Hermione had wedged herself into the window again, she freed herself when he came in. They took their customary places, Draco reclining against the wall and Hermione tucked into the corner beneath the window. They talked so long that as dawn hinted at the sky and Hermione dozed off. Draco stood, a wave of conflict washing through him. Did he cover her with a blanket and leave? Should he just leave?
After a long moment he turned back, bending down and lifting her into his arms. Dead lifting someone from the floor is hard, despite that he found Granger's weight manageable. It surprised him, how heavy her small body could be. He deposited her on the bed, pulling the thin blanket up and over her shoulders.
Sunday night found Hermione falling asleep again during their discussions.
Monday night he found out the reason for the lack of energy.
Hermione stood when Draco entered the room, pulling away from the window she had been staring out of. She took a step, her expression confused before she crumpled to the ground.
"What the hell Granger?" Draco exclaimed as he rushed forward to help her up.
She placed her hand in his without hesitation, something that he knew he would be thinking about for hours to come. She stood up, her hand shaking lightly as she did so. She began to pull away, but Draco trapped her wrist once he realized that she was shaking. She tugged back lightly, weakly.
His gaze snapped up to hers. "What happened?" He questioned her quietly.
Tears filled her gaze and Draco felt his spirit sink, Granger wouldn't cry normally. He had only seen it once, after Weasel had hurt her at the Yule Ball. This had to be bad.
"Your father cut off my food. I haven't eaten in three days," she looked down, seemingly ashamed at this information.
"He must be getting desperate; Pot Head and Weasel broke into Bellatrix's vault at Gringotts. They got away with something extremely important." Draco's mind swirled, a dark anger swelling inside of him.
"Draco, let go you are hurting me."
Draco dropped Hermione's hand like it burned him, ashamed that he had been so caught up his own thoughts he ended up hurting her, even by accident.
Draco covered his eyes, then quickly ran his fingers through his hair. With a stoke of brilliance he called for Trissa. She appeared, eyes wide with an underlying fear.
"Yes, master?"
"Trissa, you belong to me, and not the Malfoy family, correct?"
Trissa started to quiver, "Yes master."
"Good, I need you to prepare a light broth and some bread." Turning back to Hermione, he spoke to her again, "I need you to sit down and relax until Trissa comes back."
Trissa disappeared with a crack.
"Why did you choose broth and bread?" She sat down on the bed.
Draco raised a single eyebrow, "You think you are the first person my father has starved to prove a point?"
"Oh." She searched his face, eyes worried, "How old were you?"
Draco's hand twitched, they had avoided talking about his family thus far. He looked down, she deserved an answer though. "I was six."
The gasp that escaped her shouldn't have shocked him or pleased him. You only gasp at the treatment in the past if you care about someone. No one had ever worried about the younger him. Draco tucked away his smile, moving to his customary position against the wall.
In hopes of distracting her from her tears he offered up his life, "I am feeling generous tonight, so you can ask me whatever you like."
Hermione, tears still dotting her lashes raised an eyebrow at him. "You might regret that."
Draco crossed his arms, leaning his head back eyes closed, and responded, "I know, but bizarre as it seems I trust you Granger."
"Do you hate your father?" She murmured.
Draco opened his eyes, searching within himself while staring at the ceiling. "More than I care to admit."
Closing his eyes again he waited for her next question.
The bed creaked as she shifted, "Do you hate your mother?"
Draco flinched, hoping that she didn't see it in the dark. "My mother is the only person in my life to ever show me love, I couldn't hate her, even if I wanted to."
"Did you ever want siblings?"
"When I was young I did, but now?" He laughed mirthlessly, "I am glad I don't have to watch someone else break under the strain placed on me."
"Do you ever..." Her question stopped as Trissa appeared, a large tray between her arms.
Draco took the tray from her dismissing her with a nod, he set the tray down and handed her the bowl, tearing the bread into pieces for her to dip.
She ate with a restrained furry. Draco watched her, until her last bite, verifying that she ate it all.
"So, what were you going to ask me before Trissa arrived?"
Hermione glared over at him, a finger curled over her lips as she finished her food.
"Don't worry about it," she finally responded, "it's nothing."
Draco smirked, "Come now, the Gryffindor princess not brave enough to ask a question when given free reign?"
Hermione twisted her fingers together, pulling her legs up beneath her, still on the bed. "You should know by now I am not altogether brave."
Draco searched her face, unsure of how to take her expression. "You are the bravest person I know. I don't know many other people who would face down a three-headed dog at eleven years old, or punch the local prat at thirteen, or even face down Death Eaters at seventeen. Bloody hell, you respond to torture about your best friend with non-answers and glares to a man who has terrified me for as long as I can remember. You may not think you are brave, but be assured, I do."
Hermione looked up sharply, eyes boring into his. "I think that is the nicest thing you have ever said to me."
Draco flushed, and looked away. "Nice is relative, and I have never been one to lie when I can help it."
He could hear the smile in Hermione's voice when she responded, "I know, that is why I appreciate the compliment that much more."
Draco's cheeks flamed hotter. "Whatever you say Granger."
She laughed quietly.
"Now what was the question?"
She sobered, fingers fidgeting, "Do you ever imagine a life beyond this one? A life without...all this pain?"
He kept quiet a long time, pondering her question. "I wish for one, but I never let myself dream of something that cannot be. It would hurt too much to wake up from such a pleasant dream."
A/N: Early update, enjoy!