A/N Finally posting this chapter, which has gone through several revisions, and I'm still not sure if I like it as much as I want to. Reviews are much appreciated, and a big thank you to all those who have reviewed so far. You guys are the greatest!

Draco.

His wand was trembling in his fingers, and he felt his breath come up in heaves. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do it. The Headmaster's face was too kind, too concerned. He couldn't find the words.

The Death Eater's surrounded him.

"Do it Draco," they each urged with maniacal glee. "Finish him."

But he couldn't do it. Not for anything. He wasn't sure if it was sweat or tears that were pouring down his face, but he felt it all the same. They were watching him, and they could see him falter. His mother and father would pay for this. The Dark Lord would punish all of them. He couldn't do it.

He was shouldered aside by a dark figure. It was the man who promised to do what he could not. He watched him raise his wand, and the Headmaster's lips formed a plea.

"Severus... Severus, please."

"Avada Kedavra!"

And the Headmaster fell. He watched the body drop from the tower and heard it break when it finally hit the ground. The lifeless eyes, the twisted bones, the blood...

He awoke with a start. Sweat coated his face and chest, and his heart was pounding. He panted as if he had just finished a marathon and gripped the sides of his bed. It was over now. Judging from the lack of light from the window, it was still early morning. He swung his legs off the side of his bed and lowered his head into his hands. Every emotion from that long-ago night was still with him.

"Draco?"

Logan was lying on his side, eyes wide. "Are you alright?" he asked fearfully.

He couldn't answer him. Not yet. Draco sat with his head between his knees and breathed heavily. He focused on each motion, and slowly, his heart returned to its normal rhythm. He waited a few more minutes before addressing Logan.

"I'm fine," he said quietly. "Go back to sleep."

"I can't," Logan said, his voice uneven. "I've been up for hours."

Draco ignored his comment and rolled back into his own bed. His first appointment with the special Healer was today at two, and Draco had been puzzling over what it would be like.

"Draco?"

"Mmmm," he muttered. He wasn't going back to sleep, but he would pretend to. Logan might be able to relax and get some sleep if he thought Draco was too.

"You talk in your sleep. You say a lot of stuff," Logan said in a soft voice.

Draco stiffened.

"It's hard to understand what you're saying," Logan continued. "Do you have nightmares like I do?"

Draco sat up to face him. "My nightmares are different from yours. I can guarantee they're worse. Now go to sleep Logan."

He closed his eyes and felt Logan's stare pierce into him until the boy finally went to sleep.

Logan was gone when Draco went to breakfast. His bed was unmade, and his dirty clothes were piled on the floor. Feelings of guilt stabbed Draco in his mind. Logan was just a young boy. He picked at his bacon and toast and barely noticed Astoria as she slid onto the bench. Her plate appeared with eggs and a biscuit, but she ignored it. Draco caught her gaze, and she looked tired.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "What about you? Your eyes are bloodshot."

He ducked his head and muttered, "It's nothing." He hated it when she saw him like this, hated when she knew how bad he was.

"You have your appointment today right? With Healer Wood?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do."

She reached across the table for his hand. "Tell me how it goes. Okay?" She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Okay," he said back, raising his head. She smiled at him, but he could see the bags under her eyes. "You should try to nap. You know, after lunch or something."

She shook her head. "I don't think I can. Too much noise. Too many people walking by my room. And I just... I just... I just can't."

"Use my room," he offered before realizing what he was saying. "I've got my appointment, and Logan keeps to himself if he's even in the room."

"Are you sure?" Her face was skeptical.

"I'm sure," he said, his lips forming a soft smile.

He hadn't smiled like that for a long time.

Healer Wood was a no-nonsense type of person. Her office was neat and orderly, and all the books on her bookshelf were alphabetized and categorized. Her Healer robes were well kept and pressed. But her attitude did not stop her from smiling warmly at Draco as he sat in a chair across from her.

"It's nice to meet you Draco," she began, extending her hand. "I'm sure you already know this, but I'm Healer Wood and I work on call as the wizarding psychologist here at St. Mungo's."

Draco nodded as he shook her hand.

"Now, let's talk about you," Healer Wood continued, her voice level and calm. "How are you today?"

Draco sat back in his chair, with his fingers laced together in his lap. "I'm fine."

"And would you care to elaborate on that? What are you feeling? What sorts of things are you thinking about?" She shifted the clipboard in her lap.

"I don't... I don't know. I guess I just feel sort of... Nothing. Everything's just kind of a motion for me," he said, his voice quiet.

"Everything is a motion for you," the Healer repeated. "What do you mean by that Draco?"

He felt himself fidget in his chair, and he inhaled deeply. "For a long time, I haven't had any desire to live. I thought I didn't deserve to live anymore, and I still think that a lot."

"Your record says you would intentionally withhold food from yourself?"

"Yeah," he said.

"And sleep?"

"Yeah," he answered, his voice getting quieter.

"And you often harmed yourself?"

"Yeah," he whispered as he directed his eyes away from Healer Wood. This was too much, too suffocating, and he couldn't do this.

"Draco, do you want to live?" she asked him gently.

When Draco did not respond, she continued. "Draco, everything you say to me in here is kept confidentially between me and you. I am here to try to help you. You have experienced truly awful events, and myself and the rest of the staff want to see you improve. But we cannot help you get better if you don't trust me. Do you trust me Draco?"

His eyes finally met Healer Wood's. "Yes," Draco said. "Yes, I do want to live. But I don't deserve to."

Healer Wood nodded. "It takes a lot of courage to admit that you feel this way Draco. And I think this is a good starting place for us."

A quill flew into her hand as she scribbled something on her clipboard.

"I'd like to continue meeting with you on Tuesdays at two. Does that work for you?"

He nodded as she continued writing.

"Our sessions will be about an hour long, and I want these sessions to be a time for you to be able to speak freely about anything. Do you think you can do that?"

He nodded again. "I'll try."

She smiled. "I think we'll both benefit from this. It was nice to meet you Draco."

He shook her hand again before he made for the door.

"And Draco, I know you may not believe me, but you do. You do deserve to live."

He closed the door quietly behind him.

Draco walked back to his room, his mind wandering as he thought about what sort of things they would talk about in his sessions. A part of him dreaded going, but another part of him felt elated. He could speak freely about himself. As he walked back to his room, he felt a smile creep onto his face.

Astoria had taken up his offer, and he could see her curled up under his sheets. Her hair was bunched up on his pillow, and her mouth hung open slightly. He crept closer to her, hoping he wouldn't wake her. She looked peaceful sleeping in his bed, and the thought of that made him feel warm. He stood beside his bed for a few minutes before exiting, his smile bigger than before.

After dinner, Draco sat in the common room in his corner. A few kids were playing Exploding Snap, and a group of older witches and wizards were huddled around the wireless. The volume had been turned down, so Draco could not hear what was happening. It was better that he didn't hear about the Death Eaters.

He hadn't seen Astoria at dinner, and he assumed she was mostly likely still asleep in his bed. He wished his mind could capture pictures, like a camera. Then he could keep that image of her, wrapped up in his sheets and her breathing soft and rhythmic. She looked smaller while she was sleeping, almost like he could fit her into the palm of his hand.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice her until she slid next to him.

"Hey," she greeted with a small yawn.

"Hi. I see you had a nice nap."

She smiled. "You have a very nice bed Draco. And a very quiet roommate."

"Yeah, he's alright."

"He thinks you hate him."

"I don't," he defended.

"Then you should talk to him more. He's a good kid."

He didn't respond, but instead noticed the book resting on her lap. It was huge.

"What is that?"

"Why Draco, haven't you ever seen a book before," she said smirking.

He rolled his eyes. "Ha bloody ha."

"Don't be so serious Draco. Here ."

She thrust the book into his hands. It was one of the thickest books he had ever seen. It was a paperback, and the dimensions were similar to a large brick.

"Les Misérables," he read from the cover.

"You speak French?" she asked him.

"Mum made me learn a little. Wanted me to be well-rounded."

He flipped through the pages. "Bloody hell this thing is huge. Who wrote this?"

"A lovely man named Victor Hugo," she said smiling. "Turn it over."

He turned it to the back and read the summary. "What's all this? What revolution?"

"Good question. I don't really know. But it sounded interesting when I picked it."

"Where in the world did you get this?"

"We have bookshelves Draco, in case you've forgotten." She gestured towards the shelves across the room.

"So why are you reading this? I've never even heard of this man."

"You probably wouldn't. He's a Muggle writer."

Draco let go of the book and it fell with a soft thump into his lap. "A Muggle? A Muggle wrote this book? What's it doing here?"

Astoria's eyes hardened, and she reached over for the book. "The Healers placed a huge order for Muggle books when they first opened this ward. Do you know why?"

He shook his head.

"Because there is something very healing about their words. It's a magic we can't explain." She gripped the book tightly. "I know how you feel about Muggles, but I think if you gave it a chance, you might like it."

He reached for the book and took it from her hands. The page count was over one thousand. "You want me to read this?" he asked.

She nodded. "Words can be healing."

"What about you?"

"I'll read it with you. I thought... I thought we could take turns reading it aloud to each other. You know, keep it interesting," she said, her eyes alive once more.

He looked at the Muggle book, and he could see the hundred of Muggle bodies piled high in the streets. He could see the Dark Lord's grin as he killed them one after another. He saw their horror, their pain, and he could hear their screams before their small lives were cut short. He saw his own father, cursing the Muggles and hitting them with spell after spell. He saw the smoldering ruins of their Muggle homes and their demolished world. He saw their libraries toppled over, and the books set aflame. A chill ran through him, and he pressed his forehead to the cover of the book.

"Draco?"

"Yeah," he answered, raising his head back up. "Yeah I'll read it with you. I'd... I think I'd like that."

She reached for his hand and laced her fingers in his. Her hand was still cold to the touch, but he liked the feeling. "Let's start. Do you want to read first?"

He nodded and flipped to the first page. "In 1815 Monsieur Charles-Francois-Bienvenu Myrriel was bishop of Digne..."

Draco Malfoy had never been the world's most avid reader. He certainly had never read anything written by a Muggle. But March 11, 1999 marked a new step for him. Reading would never be the same.