With trembling hands, Draco grabbed the small blade and raised it to his face. It glinted in the sunlight streaming through the bathroom window. It was like the blinding halo of the first light in the morning. It was both uncomfortable and pleasant.

Draco swallowed. Everything seemed so simple now that he had found the solution to end his life. Now he knew he had a way out, a way to end it.

He ran his thumb over the blade with absolute slowness. He wanted to test it. Just test it. To know its power, its violence. He wanted to be aware of every mark it could inflict, every wound, every life it could take.

Despite the precaution he had just taken, he cut his skin slightly. A drop of blood beaded on his finger and ran down his knuckles, then his palm, before splashing onto the floor.

He stood petrified as he followed the drop with his eyes, his mouth dry and his eyes wet with tears, until it fell. It splashed into a small red circle, a stark contrast to the white tiles.

It hadn't hurt, however, the mere sight of the blood made him drop the blade. His heart, which had seemed to stop for that moment, began to drum in his chest as if trying to send him a message.

Seeing all that blood reminded him of his nightmares, his wounds and his torture, like flashes of light that would glare at him. Yet it was only his memories screaming at him to leave.

His eyes went wild as panic took hold of him. He scanned every corner of the room for an exit, as if he had forgotten how to find his way around the not-so-large bathroom.

As he tried to move, Draco caught his feet in the objects lying on the floor after he had hurriedly taken them out of their drawers. He fell to his knees, then onto his palms, which he scraped with the shards of glass from the rest of a potion vial.

As he looked down at it, he noticed that other vials, still in good condition, were scattered around him. All contained a hypnotic midnight blue potion that seemed to contain all the stars in the universe. A kind of dark, glittering sky.

He was transfixed by it, and his gaze was lost in it for many minutes, so much so that he forgot the pain of the wounds in his hands.

He remembered the potion. He knew it, having prepared it himself and consumed it several times. It had proved to be necessary in the summer after his sixth year. He still remembered it perfectly.

All the nights he had spent without anxiety in his bed, even as Voldemort lived within the confines of his manor and the Mark on his arm burned him several times a day during his Master's calls.

Dreamless nights of sleep. No nightmares. No horrors. Nothing. Nights of calm.

He suddenly came out of his lethargy when he heard a bark in the distance. He felt as if he had been hit in the head with a sledgehammer, bringing him out of the vegetative state he had been in for weeks.

He got up immediately and was about to leave the room to go to his bedroom, but froze. He looked down at the bottles scattered on the floor and took a few seconds to think about them.

Finally, he decided to pick up as many as he could, not sparing a moment's thought to wonder what the consequences of these actions might be.

Leaving the room without putting it back in order, he rushed to his room, his arms overflowing with potions and his heart pounding. He felt like he was running from something, running from someone. When he arrived, he immediately closed the door behind him and slid against it, closing his eyes tightly. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and tried to calm his gasping breath.

He felt on the verge of unconsciousness, so much anguish was gripping him. He hardly realised that he had just left his room for the first time. He was only aware of his heartbeat and his headaches. The only feelings that had any place in this mess of anguish.

He hadn't heard any other barking, but he couldn't help but panic that Granger—or anyone else—might find out what he'd just done.

Then he realised the magnitude of what he had done. He had stolen potions. If Granger found out, she would have his hide. She'd want to confront him and get them back. And Draco would be unable to do that.

oOo

The day was drawing to a close when Pansy used her portkey to go to France. Her schedule had turned out to be busier than expected and she had to postpone her visit.

The good news was that she would be able to take the time to discuss with Granger what had happened between her and Blaise. Pansy intended to apologise on her husband's behalf and on her own behalf for all that she had endured, especially the loneliness of the past month.

She hadn't spoken to Blaise since their fight. She had been sleeping at their second home in the north of Scotland, a small holiday cottage they had bought two years after their marriage. She had asked him not to come and he had respected her wishes. She had sent him an owl, saying that she needed to reflect and take some time for herself, because of everything that had been going on in her life lately.

She had felt like she had lost her only anchor that night. The only person she trusted completely. The same person who had lied to her for a month. She hadn't been able to get past that, especially when it put the life of one of their friends in danger.

So she had taken refuge elsewhere, spending her days writing letters to wealthy wizarding families she knew to get donations for her foundation. She had felt so lonely, so desperate...

So for now, she planned to spend some time with Draco, whom she found sitting on the windowsill of his room when she arrived. She couldn't help the smile that stretched across her lips when she saw him like that. Usually, he was lying in his bed brooding, crying or trying to pull his hair out. She was almost moved to see him like this. He seemed to be doing better.

"Hi," she said, putting her things down on the armchair in the room—which she'd ended up leaving there—and walking over to him.

He turned his head towards her, but didn't answer.

She saw the absence of dark circles on his face. He still looked ill and was still very pale, but he was looking more rested. She hadn't seen him like this for weeks. The last time she had been here he had looked like an Inferius, both mentally and physically.

"You look good," she remarked as she slowly approached him and placed a hand on his arm.

He flinched slightly at the gesture, but did nothing else to show that the contact bothered him. He merely moved away so that she could remove her hand, then shrugged and turned his head away. She felt bad for daring to touch him, but was still proud that he hadn't jumped six feet.

Pansy let her gaze travel over her friend's features, over the clothes belonging to Blaise, over his beard of a few days—which proved that her husband hadn't been here for a while—and then over the end of his sleeves, under which he was hiding his hands.

Pansy frowned. Why was he wearing a long-sleeved shirt in the middle of summer? It had been particularly hot in this part of France for the last two days, she had checked the weather in the papers, and the sun was beating down directly through his window.

She looked up into his face and noticed a slight bead of sweat on Draco's temple. Was it his anxiety or the heat?

"Aren't you hot like that?" she asked then, making an effort not to sound suspicious.

He simply answered with a shrug, which only annoyed Pansy. She wanted him to answer honestly. He shouldn't be dressed like that in this heat! Deciding she didn't have the patience to wait for him to deign to explain what was wrong with him, she suddenly rolled up his sleeves, making him jump violently.

He recoiled and fell from the windowsill to the bedroom floor. When she looked down at him, she met his terrified gaze, hidden behind her elbows.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed immediately as she knelt beside him, looking worried.

What had she done? What had got into her?

"I just wanted to–"

"Go away," he sobbed as he huddled a little closer to the ground.

"Draco, I–"

"Go away!" he repeated, this time screaming.

His whole body was shaking as he tried to get as far away from her as possible.

Tears formed in Pansy's eyes and she swallowed, unable to move. She didn't want to leave him here alone and in such a state, she felt terrible. She noticed the scratches and cuts on his palms, but made no comment about them. She knew it would only make things worse.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to get up the courage to finally move.

"I'll be– I'll be downstairs if you need me," she murmured simply before leaving the room.

Once the door was closed, she leaned against it and let her head fall forward with a sigh. She held her face in her hands and sobbed silently.

She was at her wits' end.

oOo

It was getting dark when the front door opened and Hermione came in, accompanied by Albert. Pansy had been waiting for her all evening, during which time she had been content to pace around the living room. Draco hadn't come to see her, unsurprisingly, and she had fought the urge to go up to him to talk and apologise. She hadn't done so, knowing that it would be pointless and that he was unlikely to respond. She had to give him time to calm down.

She was sitting in an armchair, from which she rose as soon as her friend arrived.

Friend was a strong word, the young woman was aware of that, but she wanted to think of her as such, even though they didn't know each other very well and didn't see each other often. Pansy had discovered a woman in Hermione that she would never have imagined before.

She had met a sensitive person who had hidden her weaknesses all her life. Someone who, despite her courage and need for justice, needed solitude and calm since the end of the fighting. She was living in a post-war period that brought out her most hidden character traits.

Pansy was well aware that without the ordeal that was her journey towards reconstruction, she would never have learned to appreciate Hermione for whom she had become. During their school days, mostly because of her surroundings but also because of her need for attention, Pansy had had a lot of trouble with her and had taken pleasure in showing it. Everything had been an excuse for harassment and the need to crush others to put herself forward. It had taken her a long time to understand that.

So now that Pansy was at peace with herself, at least at peace with her self-image, she was able to welcome others into her life. She didn't see many people, not because of her role in the war, but mainly because she didn't want or need to. She saw a few people and was content with that.

Hermione Granger was more or less one of them. They had seen each other very rarely and yet Pansy felt the need to get closer to her, to understand her and now also to help her.

She felt that Hermione was like her, in a way. Since they had both evolved into two women victims of the war, Pansy felt they had something in common. Their sensitivity, their resentful side, their generosity, their need for solitude and above all, their need for justice.

This last point was probably the one that intrigued Pansy the most. Although Granger had fought very little for justice after the war—at least unlike her—the young woman realised that it was something that animated them both, despite the hardships they were experiencing.

Pansy had been fighting for weeks to get her foundation, which was still in its infancy, up and running. Hermione had been fighting all through her time at Hogwarts, and was still fighting, even if she didn't show it. Despite the panic of that day, Pansy remembered perfectly the hatred she had seen in her friend's eyes towards the British brigade when Draco had arrived in early May. She had seen in her eyes how much she would have wanted to cast a stinging spell on them to make them pay for the state in which Malfoy had arrived. Despite everything. Despite her condition. Despite her past with the blonde. Despite the pressure that had been put on her to marry him.

And Pansy admired her for that.

She also understood her perfectly because their states since the end of the war were rather similar.

It was for this reason that she immediately raised her hands to the sky to show that she was unarmed when she saw Hermione enter. Especially since after her husband's blunder, she certainly didn't want her to think it was going to happen again.

And just as she had imagined, Granger froze and paled considerably when she saw her in the living room. She drew her wand before Pansy had time to say Quidditch and pointed it at her.

Albert, standing at her feet, began to growl dangerously, ready to jump on her at any moment. Granger must have trained him well for him not to have done so already.

"I come as a friend," Pansy exclaimed, raising her hands higher. "I'm not armed, my wand is lying on the table!"

She saw Hermione's hand shake and the tip of her wand shake as well. Her eyes were terrified, she was on the verge of tears.

"I assure you I mean you no harm, I promise," Pansy said.

Eventually, Hermione lowered her wand, though she didn't take her eyes off her. Her breathing sounded agitated from where Pansy was standing. She was in a panic.

She turned to the front door and opened it to let Albert through. The Slytherin let out a small sigh of relief when she saw her do it. The dog looked like it was going to jump on her at any moment and she had no desire to go home with a missing arm or leg.

When Hermione came back into the living room, Pansy noticed that she was deliberately avoiding her gaze. She hadn't stopped shaking.

"Do you want something to drink?" she asked. "I have tea or some juice from–"

"I'll have a cup of tea, please," Pansy replied as she sat back down on the sofa.

Hermione nodded and went into the small kitchen, wiping her hands on her jeans. Her anxiety was obviously making her hands sweaty.

Pansy waited patiently in the living room, her hands resting on her thighs and uncomfortable as hell. She hadn't wanted to trigger such a reaction in the other woman and felt terrible about it.

More than ten minutes passed without Hermione returning from the kitchen, which began to worry her. She frowned and bit her lower lip, unsure of what to do.

Eventually, she decided to join her to check that everything was okay. When she arrived in the next room, she found her friend leaning against the counter, her head in her hands.

"Gr–. Hermione?" whispered Pansy, so as not to startle her. "Do you need help?"

This small action still managed to startle Hermione, who abruptly raised her head towards her. Her gaze was still as scared as it had been when she had first entered the house. Pansy felt terrible. She felt like she was facing Draco. It made a surge of guilt swell in her chest.

"It's all right," Hermione lied as she straightened up and reached for her teapot, which was hissing on the gas. "Go back to the living room, I'll be right there," she continued in a quavering voice as she tried to pour them a cup.

However, her trembling hands prevented her from doing so, and she had to go over it three times before she managed to pour the tea properly into the cups. Drops fell down the cups, forming a brown stain on the table. Pansy held back from taking another step to help her. She had to wait, she didn't want to scare Granger any more than she already was.

"I can help you if you–"

"I can take care of myself," Hermione cut her off in a sobbing voice.

Pansy swallowed and nodded, before finally leaving the room. She didn't want to upset her any more. She felt like she was messing up lately. That everything she approached, touched, or was interested in, was doomed to failure.

Another ten minutes had passed when Granger returned to the living room, holding two cups in her hands. She set them down on the coffee table and settled into an armchair, her gaze deliberately focused on the outside, where Albert's distant barking could be heard.

"Thank you," Pansy murmured as she retrieved her tea and raised it to her lips in silence.

Hermione nodded in response and the silence returned. Awkward. Heavy.

So much so that Pansy felt compelled to speak again. It was unbearable. She couldn't stand the silence.

"I never see you use your wand," she remarked.

"My magic is too unstable. I do damage when I use it. So I prefer to use it only for emergencies," she explained, hiding behind her cup.

"Is it also unstable when you don't have your wand?" Pansy asked with interest.

She saw this as an opening for a cordial, even friendly discussion. So she jumped at the chance.

Hermione didn't answer. She just put her cup on the table, doing her best to keep her hands from shaking. She sat back in her chair and looked into Pansy's eyes.

Pansy saw determination, the first time in years.

"Why are you here?" asked Hermione accusingly.

She should have expected it. After all, she never visited him. They weren't as good of friends as she would have liked.

"I've come to apologise," she said, putting her cup down again, after clearing her throat. "For what Blaise did, but also for–"

"He's already apologised."

"I know, but it matters to me to say it again. We haven't been there for you for weeks and–"

"You don't have to," Hermione cut her off again, looking away. "We're not friends."

Pansy was silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. She was surprised by her words, not understanding how she could reject the step she was taking towards her like that. She understood her need for solitude, more than anyone else really, but she was sure that no one could handle such solitude in the long run.

"Is that really what you think?" she asked then. "That we aren't friends? And that therefore, we shouldn't help you?"

"You have better things to do. Malfoy needs you far more than I do. I don't need any help. You made it clear to me last time that I could handle myself, that I wouldn't need to worry about you because you'd take care of Malfoy," Hermione wryly quipped. "And that's what you do, isn't it? You come back and forth here, stay for an hour or two with him, and then you just walk away like you were never here."

Pansy swallowed. She was overcome with a rush of guilt. Now that Granger was talking about it, she realised how distant they had been.

"That wasn't our intention," she replied then, moving forward in her seat, until she rested her elbows on her knees. "I thought–I stupidly thought you'd be better off without us, that you'd prefer us to be discreet."

Hermione snorted sarcastically, before shrugging.

"What difference does it make? Zabini was right, wasn't he? He was right to think that I could have done something to Malfoy. After all, who else could have? I'm the only one who lives here. I'm the obvious culprit."

"He was wrong. He knows that and I'm terribly sorry for what he did, Hermione. He was wrong, we know very well that you would never do such a thing. Draco doesn't even come out of his room, he spends his days in there, and you spend yours in your bookshop. I'm sor–"

"He doesn't leave his room?" she asked, frowning and looking at Pansy.

"Never," she replied with a dejected look. "He hardly speaks and sometimes I wonder if he even understands everything we say to him."

"Why shouldn't he understand?"

Pansy held back a smile. She could tell by the look on Hermione's face that she had piqued her interest.

"He's not really reacting, it's like he's not inside his body anymore."

"Maybe he's just traumatised. If he's lived so many years alone in Azkaban, it's no wonder he's so withdrawn," Hermione pointed out to her in a burst of insight.

"You think so?" Pansy said in a worried tone before sighing. "I feel like I'm not doing enough to help him–"

"There's not much you can do. It's a job he'll do himself, I read about it in a wizarding psychology book. Your presence is beneficial to him, but if you're too regular, it can have the opposite effect. You have to give him space, give him time to take a step towards you on his own and move on with his life."

"We don't have a choice, we have to make sure he's healthy and get him some food!" Pansy retorted with an outdated look.

Pansy then saw Hermione bite her lip and turn her head away. She fiddled with the sleeves of her top anxiously, as if she was trying to say something but didn't dare.

"If it's having to provide meals for him, that's the problem, I could do that," she announced shyly. "I think you both have a lot of work and–"

"You'd do that?" Pansy asked with a bemused look on her face.

"If it helps," Hermione replied with a shrug.

"I thought you didn't want to have to deal with him anymore, that you didn't want to hear from him or help him in any way?"

Hermione shrugged again, clearly unwilling to discuss it further.

"Thank you, Granger. Thank you for everything. I think we forget, too often, that it's all thanks to you that we have Draco back."

Pansy had just enough time to catch a glimpse of a slight smile on Hermione's lips before it disappeared.

oOo

Pansy had stayed for dinner. She and Hermione had spent the evening together in quiet conversation, much to the Gryffindor's surprise. They had never been particularly close, nor had they shared much, so Hermione had had the opportunity to discover a particularly intelligent young woman who had the gift of knowing how to deal with her.

When Pansy had left France via portkey, it was past midnight. Hermione was exhausted. Their discussions had revolved around heavy and important topics in both their lives. She had realised how similar they were.

Pansy had told her about her fears since the end of the war, about her nightmares and the reflexes she had never lost. Hermione had told her about her own, about her panic attacks and her inability to use magic properly.

The whole conversation, sitting under the June stars on the outside table of her house, had reminded her of the bedtime conversations she'd had with her Muggle cousins as a child. Hermione knew that this moment had been unique, an exception to their hectic lives, and she was content with that. They had stayed that way until Pansy started to fall asleep.

She had left only ten minutes earlier and yet Hermione was already feeling terribly lonely. This semblance of sociability had done her better than she had expected, though it was a considerable ordeal.

As she walked back into her living room, with Albert who had returned to her side as soon as Pansy had left, she stared at the large sofa she had been sleeping on for weeks. She gritted her teeth. She had no desire to sleep here that night. She missed her bed more than she thought she would.

So, after preparing a bowl for Albert, she gathered her courage and headed upstairs. She climbed each step with difficulty, apprehension gripping her.

Her hands trembled on the railing, but she didn't stop on the way. She wanted to sleep in her bed.

She blew out a breath as she placed her foot on the floor. Almost there. She was now facing the open bathroom door.

Open?

She frowned. The doors of the house always remained closed so as not to let Albert in anywhere he wasn't supposed to be.

Then she noticed that the room was a total mess. Shards of glass and potion residues of all kinds were scattered on the floor. Her toothbrush, bath towels and a block of soap were mixed in with the mess. She hardly dared to go near it.

Her heart was pounding in her chest as she searched for an explanation for what she had just discovered.

Had she been robbed? Was someone hiding in her house without her knowledge?

After all, Pansy had told her that Malfoy didn't come out of his room, right?

What if she was wrong?

Hermione slowly approached the door, her breathing unusually fast. She knelt down on the floor, careful not to hurt herself with glass, and carefully observed the remains of what looked like an inner storm.

She then noticed a few drops of blood on the white tiles and pieces of glass. So it wasn't deliberate, she doubted that a burglar would be clumsy enough to hurt himself. Besides, what could anyone possibly want to steal?

It was the few blonde hairs on the floor that made her realise who had entered. She was shocked. So he had come out. Pansy was wrong.

She stood up and stepped back, as if pushed back by an invisible force. A force also called fear. If he had been able to get in there, where else had he gone?

This simple idea awakened her deepest fears. She was about to flee to the ground floor, to call Pansy back and tell her to forget her proposal, when...

She saw the empty cupboard. The cupboard that held her dreamless sleeping potions.

He had taken her potions. And not just a little.

This realisation calmed her immediately. He'd got something to sleep on.

She dropped into the armchair in the corridor and took her face in her hands. She had to calm down, take it easy and stop herself from contacting Parkinson. She could do it. She could keep her promise.

He was a human, like her. He seemed to be in the same state as her, if not worse. She couldn't make him pay for his own anguish. Hermione Granger couldn't afford it.

She looked up at the door to the guest room that Malfoy had been living in for nearly two months and stared at it for a long second. Should she tell him what she had decided with Pansy? Should she offer to share the potion stash she had with him?

After all, if anyone could understand how useful those potions were, it was her. She couldn't refuse him. She had a full supply for herself in the downstairs bathroom.

She decided to get up and silently approached the door.

Human. He was human and suffering, just like her. That was what she kept telling herself to convince herself not to back down.

She raised her hand to his face, ready to knock. What if he didn't answer? What if he reacted badly?

After all, they had never spoken. She had never been near this door, or his floor when he was awake.

She bit her lip and let her hand fall back.

Not tonight. She wasn't ready. She would have to take things slowly if she wanted to prove to him that she meant him no harm. She would just restock the upstairs bathroom with potions and clean it.

She would do it the next day.

And that's it! See you on Monday 12/26 for the next chapter!
Thanks to Acciobraincells, DontStopHerNow, habon and kreimal for their support.
Don't forget to leave comments and follow the story to support me ;)