Two days had passed since the Zabini couple's visit. Two days Hermione spent not daring to go upstairs, only leaving the sofa to magically send hay to the horses and feed Albert, who hadn't left the living room carpet.

Hermione felt like an inferius, unable to walk without risking her knees giving out. She had emptied her supply of feeding potions, a bad habit that Malfoy's presence in her house had reminded her of.

Long gone were the days when she was obsessed with food and what went into her stomach. Now it didn't matter. It was a task, a chore to be performed three times a day.

As for the calming potions and her magical slumbers–as she liked to call the Dreamless Sleep potions–she would have to make a pot or two more, as her supply was dwindling by the minute.

She was supposed to go back to work the next day and yet there had been several times when she had wondered if she was even able to get out of her living room. Everything seemed impossible, too tiring and useless.

Why force herself when she could just lie there and do nothing?

Moreover, her mind was beginning to play tricks on her. She was constantly torn between the desire to burn down the farm–including her new roommate–to go and live on a deserted island far from any civilisation, and the desire to resume her life and give herself the means to help Malfoy, who lived alone upstairs.

She was aware that Blaise had been feeding and caring for him since his first visit. Before Blaise and Pansy left, he had told Hermione that he would be travelling back and forth from England via portkey to care for Malfoy. Thanks to his lawyer credentials, Blaise was able to obtain portkeys without any issue, and had conveniently ensured it landed directly into Malfoy's room. At least someone was feeding and caring for Malfoy.

However, she couldn't help but feel guilty. She knew that Blaise had been working himself to death since the end of the war. Despite showing little interest in previous years, now she wanted to lighten his workload, not contribute to it.

She felt selfish for having stayed away for so long, when others spent their time fighting for their friends.

What did that say about her? What had become of her?

She felt as if she had turned into everything she hated in others. Selfishness. Passivity. It had summed her up for the past few years.

She felt as if her brain could explode at any moment.

She kept thinking about the words Pansy had said to her. She couldn't get them out of her head. She was angry at Pansy, as much as she was angry at herself. She was angry and at the same time down in the dumps. It was as if Pansy had motivated her as much as she had buried her.

Hermione found herself pathetic, unable to do anything outside the daily routine she had imposed on herself since leaving Britain. She tried not to think about Malfoy. She wanted to focus on her condition, a condition that she considered to be a profound weakness.

She couldn't even think about who he was. She was indifferent. Malfoy was just a human being staying with her. He was no more. No less. She didn't want to give her mind time to ramble on about him. He was nothing. He didn't exist. He couldn't exist. It would be too hard.

When had she become so pathetic?

Yet the mere idea of changing seemed insurmountable. Impossible. Unfeasible. All kinds of words came to mind.

She felt numb, exhausted after having done nothing for two days, and hungry from the little food she had in her system. But she was content with this state; she couldn't do anything else anyway. She was just a sleeping lump of flesh.

The sun had been up for… she wasn't sure. It couldn't have been very long. A few minutes earlier she had found the energy to drag herself off the sofa to boil water and make her way back to the living room. Energy she no longer possessed as she idly listened as the kettle whistled. But she couldn't muster up the effort to stand and stop it. She was exhausted by her previous journey to the kitchen.

Albert was sitting on…

The carpet?

It was empty. She was alone in the room. She frowned, a certain anxiety forming in her chest. Had he gone out without her noticing? It was almost time for her to serve him breakfast.

"Albert?" she called after him, raising her head.

No answer, not even a distant bark.

Her heartbeat quickened, she clenched her toes in her socks. What if something had happened to him? What if someone had taken him?

"Albert?" she repeated a little louder as she sat upright on the sofa.

She couldn't think of anything but Albert's safety. Her body moved of its own accord, the previous exhaustion was replaced by fear and adrenaline. She didn't even think about it.

There was still no answer. Her hands began to shake. This wasn't normal. Something must have happened, she couldn't think of any other explanation.

She jumped to her feet, drew her wand and, for the first time in three days, left the living room and headed outside without even bothering to put her shoes on.

Her wand was just a security measure. Something to reassure her, although she knew that any spell she would try to cast might fail. But she didn't think about it. She concentrated on the feeling in her fingers as she held the insignificant-looking piece of wood.

With her heart pounding and her breath catching, she opened the front door of the house and stepped outside.

"Albert?" she cried with tears in her eyes.

He couldn't have disappeared, it wasn't possible. She wouldn't survive without him. He was her only anchor in the real world. Her only friend.

"Albert!" she bellowed again as she ran towards the stables.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she walked around the garden near the house, finding nothing but empty space.

It was as if her plot of land had expanded. It seemed endless. She felt dizzy.

"No, no, no."

She cried loudly and almost stumbled as she walked away towards the acres of countryside. She scraped her arm but didn't pay any attention. She couldn't stop thinking about her dog, her companion, her best friend, her sole support for so many years.

"Albert! Please!" she sobbed as she walked with difficulty towards the stream at the end of her field.

And suddenly she heard them. The distant barks that echoed in the valley.

She felt her heart stop for a second, before her knees gave out and she fell to the ground in the late spring green grass. Her fingers mixed with the dirt, her legs scraped by her fall and her cheeks covered in tears, Hermione cried with relief.

The barking came closer and closer, and eventually she saw Albert's white coat running in her direction. He jumped on her a minute later and she burst into tears as she snuggled up to him, not even minding his licks on her face.

She realised how precious he was to her. She couldn't imagine living without him. He was her only lifeline, the only one who was there for her, supporting her every hour of every day.

She fell onto her back and Albert laid his head on her stomach, closing his eyes.

Hermione's heartbeat slowly calmed as she stroked her best friend's muzzle.

She felt so stupid. Panicking so much over a simple jaunt through the countryside… She wasn't capable of anything anymore, she realised that now. How was she supposed to live her life peacefully, as she had wanted to since the end of the war, if her days consisted of panic attacks over nothing and a daily routine spent between her sofa and her pantry?

This was no longer possible. She realised this with tears in her eyes.

"Albert, things are about to change," she whispered, holding back a sob.

He barked softly in response before getting up and running towards the house. She sighed heavily and ran a hand over her face. She felt lost. Alone. Terribly alone. Abandoned.

It would probably take a long time, she wasn't so naive as to think her life would change overnight, but she had to do something. No one would do it for her.

She stood up in turn, walked a few metres to the stream and put her feet in the water, looking towards the forest.

She had everything she needed to be happy. A big house. A dog that turned out to be the best friend in the world. Beautiful horses. A bookshop that allowed her to spend her days reading. Friends, although they weren't as present as before.

The cold water at her feet felt good. The current tickled her ankles. She closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation and the light breeze that blew across the valley. It was peaceful, gentle. A stark contrast to the storm in her head.

The distant barking of Albert, who must have gone home, brought her out of her thoughts. She left the river and started walking.

She took a tour of the stables before returning, putting on the large rubber boots she always left in the entrance, to clean the horses' neglected stalls. She was motivated, reassured. She had regained the desire to do something.

As she left the stable, with a bucket of dirty water in her hand, she felt herself being watched. She took out her wand at once and raised her head sharply. Her heartbeat quickened.

She met Draco Malfoy's grey, barely alive gaze. She froze.

She felt all her resolve evaporate as quickly as it had appeared. Those eyes… they inspired so much emotion. She dropped the bucket and the contents spilled onto the floor. Her hands were shaking. She was completely overwhelmed by the look in his eyes.

Malfoy was standing at the window of the guest room he occupied and looking at her without any emotion crossing his face. Hermione swallowed. She would have preferred to forget him. That he had disappeared mysteriously. That he had never existed.

She couldn't believe that he was standing there, facing her. He looked like a corpse, though in better health than the last time she had seen him. He was staring at her and it felt as if his gaze was piercing her in a way that he saw right through her. He didn't even blink, and she wondered how he could stay that way for so long.

She felt anger form in her chest as she realised once again what his presence meant.

He had support and she was being asked to give him more, although she was nothing but living trash. At least that was how she saw herself. Couldn't they see that she was no longer capable? That she didn't want to? That it would cost her what little she had left?

She wanted to be alone. She wanted him to go away. She wanted him never to have set foot in her house. She regretted that she had let everyone talk her into agreeing to let him stay. No matter how discreet he may be, she didn't want him.

Harry had emotionally blackmailed her; she realised that now. He had pushed her to agree without even thinking about the consequences. And now she found herself with more human trash as a roommate. Human trash revered by his closest friends.

She blamed him without even thinking about the fact that he had nothing to do with it. She blamed her friends for pushing her to do this. She was angry at Madame Laroche for abandoning her. She was angry at Albert for scaring her. She was angry at Pansy for her bloody speech, which had only resulted in immense anger. She was angry at the whole world, for the loneliness that was imposed on her.

She blamed herself for not being able to do anything but whine and stare at Malfoy through that window. The same man she would have preferred to see dead, rather than deal with him any longer.

She felt like hours passed as they stood there, staring into each other's eyes.

She felt hot. And cold at the same time. It was strange.

It was disturbing. She was petrified, unable to move or look away. She had no doubt her gaze was full of anger, rage, resentment, jealousy and hatred.

And just as she was about to finally turn her head, he was the one to look away. He looked down and squeezed his eyelids tightly shut.

A second later, he had moved away from the window.

oOo

Blaise hung the last new bandage around Draco's almost-repaired shoulder and magically lifted it.

Draco was looking down at his hands and waiting silently, just as he did every time his friend visited him. He could feel that he had regained his strength, that he wasn't as frail as before. Most of his bruises and scratches were gone. Only the biggest wounds remained. Blaise brought him meals daily, prepared by Pansy, and took the opportunity to look after him.

Pansy had come to visit him once or twice, too. They never left the room.

If he had found this strange at first, Draco hadn't sought to know more. He had learned not to ask questions over the years.

Why was he taken out of his cell every other day and not every day? Why was he the only one who got beaten up when he went to the warden's quarters? Why was he suddenly allowed to have some paper? Why was his food always bland and mushy?

Why did they never leave the room? Why was Pansy the only one who prepared the meals? Had Granger wanted to kill him when he had last seen her? When would he finally see his mother?

He didn't ask anymore. He remained silent, listening, counting and waiting for time to pass. He had become passive. Docile.

He counted. It kept him busy.

There were forty-eight wooden boards per square metre in the room. They were quite small, the equivalent of one of his feet, and crossed each other. Under the mattress were twelve slats, cut in half in the middle, making the equivalent of twenty-four. The tray on which Blaise placed his meals was decorated with thirty-two flowers, in four different patterns and seven colours. The chequered duvet cover on his bed had four thousand nine hundred and three squares.

Blaise's voice brought him out of his thoughts. He had been concentrating all this time on the exact numbers of his counts, it kept him sane. He had been doing this for years and had no intention of stopping. It seemed to work.

"I don't think I'll need to come in every day," Blaise told him in a low tone.

Draco said nothing, as he always did. If he noticed his friend's gaze on his tattooed neck, he said nothing. He just listened.

Would it really change anything? After all, Draco was used to being alone. And he deserved it, didn't he? Perhaps he would be disturbed by the change of routine, but it wouldn't last long, he was sure.

"I'm aware of how good it is for you, in a way, that I come every day, but with all the work I have at the Ministry, I can't allow myself to continue like this. Especially if you're better," Blaise continued as he set all of his healing tools down on the nightstand. "Your wounds are mostly closed up and if you feel up to it, all you'll need to do is apply this balm every night until the scars heal."

Blaise handed him the jar of balm and Draco grabbed it to quickly inspect it with his eyes. Apply it every night. On his wounds.

The instruction was simple and clear.

"Do you think it's possible?" Blaise asked him.

Draco slowly raised his head and looked into his eyes.

Could he do it? He thought so.

He nodded and saw Blaise give a slight smile. So slight that he almost thought he'd imagined it.

"Perfect. I'll try to come as often as I can, but I can't promise anything. Pansy will come too, but with her new foundation project, she's almost as busy as I am. If you have any concerns, do you remember how to contact me?"

Draco nodded again. Blaise had already explained it to him several times.

All Draco had to do was run his finger over the galleon on his bedside table. A system invented by Potter. Or Granger. He couldn't remember. He found it hard to listen to everything if the instructions weren't simple and concise.

"I'll try to make you more meals each time. Pansy will bring you some too. And don't forget you live here, Draco. You can visit the house when you feel ready. Okay?"

Draco nodded. It had become a kind of automatism.

Leave the room? He didn't know. He didn't feel capable of such a thing. There were so many possibilities, so much freedom behind that door. He had thought about it many times. He had nightmares about it, imagining what kinds of horrors might await him there.

He didn't feel capable of it yet.

He could see from Blaise's look that he wasn't convinced by Draco's answer, but he didn't react. He had nothing else to say or do, so he kept his head down and his back slightly arched. With his bandaged hands resting on his thighs and his feet pressed together, he was content to wait–as he did every day–for Blaise to get up and leave.

And that's exactly what Blaise did. He put his belongings back in order, put a stasis spell on the food he'd brought so it wouldn't get cold or spoil, then stood up.

Draco looked longingly at his friend's wand.

Then he thought about his own, which was still in the bag Blaise had brought him a few days earlier. He hadn't touched it once. He hadn't dared to.

As if what was in it might blow up in his face. As if what was inside was far too precious to be even slightly touched.

He was almost afraid of it.

What would happen when he regained his full magic? What if he couldn't? What if he remained unable to produce a single spark, as he had since entering Azkaban?

He didn't want to think about that. He preferred to forget the presence of the bag.

The clothes, the money, his wand, his papers… They were gone. They weren't sitting just a few feet away from him.

He would have liked to make a bonfire of them, to make them disappear forever.

"Well, I guess I'll go home," Blaise said awkwardly, bringing Draco out of his thoughts. "Pansy's expecting me for lunch. She's made pasta bolognese. It's the blue jar," he added, pointing to one of the boxes containing the food he had brought Draco.

Draco nodded vaguely. The food was so tasty, unlike the food in the prison, that he could have eaten meals he'd always hated without it bothering him one bit. He ate everything that was given to him to the last crumb. So much so that he could already see the results in his appearance.

Although he hadn't wanted to look in a mirror, he could see from his wrists and stomach that his body had begun to return to its former shape.

Of course, Draco suspected that he still looked like a corpse that hadn't seen the sunlight in years, but he was somehow reassured to see that his friends' efforts were paying off. They were useful. Still, that didn't stop Draco from feeling guilty about the time they wasted on him.

"It'll rain tomorrow," Blaise informed him, as if this was information that would affect Draco.

Draco thought that his friend simply wanted to gain a few extra seconds with him. However, he didn't know what to do to prove to Blaise that he was happy to be with him. He thought he was a loser for remaining so silent and amorphous, while his friends were going to so much trouble.

So, gathering all his strength and energy, he took a deep breath and looked up at Blaise.

"I like the rain," Draco replied in a hoarse, broken voice.

And that's it! See you on Thursday 12/01 for the next chapter!
Thanks to Acciobraincells, habon and kreimal for their support.
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