A/N: Alright my lovely darling readers, who I'm sure are very frustrated with me at this point. I had a bit of a crisis about this story, because I went through a bit of a wake up call when it came to morals. So I had to sort through all my morals and ideals before I could go forward with this story. I believe I've now figured everything out, thankfully, and so now, I'm armed with a new plan, and hopefully I can have more updates, and not be stuck on the beginning of chapter 18 for a very long time.

So, now, you can't stop reading my silly ramblings and get on to the story. Enjoy :)

Chapter 17 – Stay

Draco was happy. Christmas holidays were finally over and he was back at Hogwarts, with Hermione. He had only gotten there an hour ago, and the exhausted brunette had already passed out in her bed. He had soon retired to his own bed, after unpacking all his belongings from his trunk once more. He lay on his bed, hands cradling his head, elbows sprawled out to the side. For the life of him, he could not find an ounce of tiredness in his body, his thoughts running about in his head at an alarming pace, most of which concerned the witch who was in the bedroom beside his.

His Christmas break had, for the most part, been horrible. The time spent away from his house, he could not even call it his home anymore, with Hermione, had been the best time of the holiday. At Malfoy Manor, his father was constantly rambling on about the injustice of his every move being watched, how all Mudbloods should be put in their place, how he, Draco, should be doing more to help his father rid the wizarding world of the plague that is muggle-borns.

"Draco.." his father drawled on, he had completely lost focus at this point, nodding with what he hoped was an interested expression. "Draco, we mustn't let them win! They say now that the Dark Lord is dead, that the war is over. The war is not over Draco! The Battle has been lost, but the war goes on! We must unite once more, to prove to them that we are right! We cannot let this way of thinking go on, that filthy Mudbloods are equal to the superiority of purebloods. I'm going to a type of meeting thing tonight, just with a few old friends, to talk about this and that, you should come along. I know you'll be going back to school, and you're trying to keep a low profile, but do not disgrace the name that is Malfoy, Draco. You are a Malfoy, and a Black, never forget that..."

His father was constantly going to meetings, making sure to avoid the prying eyes of the Ministry while doing so. He did this even though the Ministry had warned their whole family, and many of the other Death Eaters against doing so. When his father was not out, he was at home, rambling on to himself, his mother, or Draco, whoever was present at the time. His father was beginning to sound like a broken record, and Draco could stand nothing about his childhood home anymore. Where Voldemort and his followers had been for sometime, the death and torture that had occurred in Malfoy Manor, the place he used to consider his home, now made him sick. The man he used to idolize and look up to, his father, now represented everything he hated in the world.

When his father had let those awful people, and that dreadful man into his home, it had changed. When his own parents, who were supposed to love him and do everything in their power to keep him from getting hurt, when they had let someone come into the place he called his home and hurt him, his whole world had changed. This man he once loved and looked up to, as every child should to their father, became a repulsing coward. The woman who had once showed him such affection, as every mother should for her child, now cowered in the corner, unable to do anything. His life hit an ultimate low, one of the lowest a life was possible of getting. He was a puppet, a play thing, for the Dark Lord, and anyone else Voldemort thought was temporarily worthy. The foul things that were done in his home, if he never had to go there again, it would be too soon.

And yet, it had been this man's very ideas and ideals that he had followed. Blood supremacy, what an idiotic concept. The Golden Trio comprised of: a half-blood, who's mother, from what he'd heard, what basically the Hermione Granger of her day, muggle-born and brilliant; then there was Hermione herself, who easily bested the best the purebloods had to offer; and finally, a blood-traitor. While Draco was not entirely sure how vital Ron's role had been, he knew, even though he hated to admit it, that Ron Weasley made up the third member for a reason. It was fitting those three had played such a vital part in the war, they were everything people like his father hated. Bloody hell, they used to be everything he himself hated.

He had no idea how he had gotten to this point, how he could have let his life turn so horribly wrong. How he had let himself turn from an innocent child, to a young man full of hatred for those who had done him no wrong. From a caring individual to a bully, and then from a bully to a Death Eater. He had promoted the hatred that had caused the war, and stood by the side of hatred and ignorance. Was he no better than his father? He certainly had followed in his footsteps, snide bully to Death Eater, he was no better than the man who had raised him to turn into the replica of himself. The one thing that set him apart from all the hatred and animosity was currently sleeping in a room that was only a shared bathroom away from himself.

Hermione, the only thing that kept him going for the past four months. The exact opposite of the pure hatred that was his father. He wondered how anyone could ever truly hate such a girl, he could understand envying her, but not hating who she was. She was so genuine in her want to help everyone, not just people, but all living things, house elves, goblins, all magical, and non-magical creatures alike. She hated if anyone or anything was being subjected to prejudice, being taken advantage of, or treated badly. She was what the world needed more of: kind, gentle, smart, beautiful, and radiant people.

He wondered if even his father could hate Hermione if he got to know her. If even such a bitter and resentful man could truly despise such a kind person. Had she not had that very effect on him? He was not the prejudice man he once was, but he had been plenty hateful and bitter before she had showed him her love, not for him, but for everything. He believed she was too good for anyone to truly hate her, she cared too much for everyone for anyone to find anything to be hated about her. He would not deny that she had her annoyances as much as anyone else, but anything truly bad, he had yet to find.

He sighed, preparing himself for another long night. He often wondered what was worse, a tortured sleep or no sleep at all. Was it better to be able to fall asleep at the blink of an eye but face his worst fears helplessly or toss and turn all night doing his best to drive all thought from his mind. As he had only experience the latter, he could not truly say. Everyone was faced with their demons in their own way, and he doubted either way was better than the other. The agony from Hermione's screams was enough to prove that she experienced the same torture he did every night, but she was able to at least vocalize it.

As if on queue, her screams pierced the air. He rushed through their shared bathroom and to her bedroom immediately, bringing her into his arms as he settled down on the bed next to her. He hated the part of himself that craved her need for him, and this excuse to be so close to her when she was in such need. It was as if he wanted her to experience it so he could comfort her; what kind of monster did that make him?

"NOOOOOOO!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, probably deafening Draco for the next day or so, but he did not care. All that mattered to his was breaking her out of this nightmare, comforting her, letting her know that he would stay with her, no matter what. What else did he had to live for in this sorry life?

"It's a fake." She whimpered.

"Shhhh love, it's okay." He tried to soothe her. She continued to writhe in his arms. He tried stroking her hair, but she would not be calmed. Her screaming returned full force, despite Draco's efforts. It pained him seeing her like this, but despite all his comforting words, she remained in agony. How could even a small part of him want her to experience this so he could be near to her? Maybe getting it out like this is a good thing, and having someone there would be helpful... No, he couldn't make excuses for being an awful person.

He didn't how long they stayed like that until she finally calmed down, waking up and looking at him through puffy, tear-stained, red eyes. Tears were still rolling down her cheeks, and he brushed them away with his thumb. This was the moment he loved, after the pain was over, when she looked at him, sometimes only for just a moment, but a moment nonetheless. Hoping that he had had some part in helping her get over this traumatic event, hoping she would get over this, and hoping that when she did, she still needed him.

He needed her to need him, Merlin help him. Being needed, having a purpose in life, was such a wonderful feeling, and being needed by Hermione was blissful. He had been needed his whole life. His parents needed him to be their perfect little pureblood child, hating muggles and muggle-borns, never stepping a toe out of line, being polite and charming to all the right people, making them look good. Crabbe and Goyle had needed him to lead them, to give them a purpose, to tell them what do to, Merlin knows they couldn't think for themselves. The other Slytherins had needed him to set an example of how to behave. Never had anyone needed him for anything good. Hermione did, she made him want, no, need, to be just that, good. She made him crave that goodness and the possible glimmer of redemption that came along with it as a man who had been stranded in the desert for days craved water. She was his water, and he wondered how he had remained parched for so long.

Yes, she was it for him, he had no doubt. He needed her in his life, even if it was not fully in the way he wanted her in it. He would do anything for that girl, possible or impossible, and he was getting dependant on her. It had gotten to the point where he was unsure if he could live without her, because she brought out a side in him no one else could, and he did not want to let go of that version of himself. Merlin's beard, his need for her scared the living shite out of him, because she could easily go on without him. She was stronger and braver than he ever could be, and yet here she was, still staring up at him as if he was her very world. Her eyes red and blemished from crying were looking up at him with wonder and adoration. Her cheeks damp and splotchy from tears, chapped mouth with a slight smile.

"You're ok now 'Mione." He whispered. "You're safe." She seemed more relaxed now, and her eyes began drifting closed once more. He began to sit up to return to his own bed, as per usual, and was surprised when he felt a hand close around his wrist. He looked down and followed the hand up to the wrist, the the arm, the shoulder, the neck, and finally to the pleading face of one very beautiful Hermione Granger.

As she looked at him, she breathed one word, barely audible, and it made his breath catch in his throat, his heart soar out of the realms of the universe, and his eyes fill with tears.

"Stay."

And there you have it folks! I hope you enjoyed, and I hope it was worth the wait. Feel free to drop me a review, ideas, thoughts, questions. I do like hearing from people, and who knows, you may see your idea in the following chapters. Or it could inspire another idea and make me write faster! ;)

Thanks for reading!

Always,

Shan