Love on borrowed time (Dramione Story ) English /Eng

Chapter 14: The Sleep of the Survivor

Since Hermione had buried herself back in her books and revisions—even though there had been a war before classes resumed—life had to go on, and so did exams. Draco hadn't seen Hermione in several days.

And the following days were a torment for the pureblood. He found himself alone, facing his doubts and memories.

Draco could no longer find sleep, even when he was exhausted. Every time he closed his eyes, the nightmares returned—more intense, more vivid. It felt as if his own mind was betraying him, forcing him to relive his worst memories over and over.

One night, unable to bear the thought of going back to bed, he quietly left the Slytherin common room and wandered through the empty corridors of Hogwarts. The castle was silent, shrouded in darkness, yet Draco felt the weight of each step, as if the very walls were judging him for his past.

Eventually, his steps led him to the Room of Requirement. He closed his eyes and thought desperately of a place where he could finally find peace. But when he entered, it was not a sanctuary that awaited him.

The room had taken on a dark and tortured form—a reflection of the hell he carried within him. The walls were covered with terrifying memories: battle scenes, screams of agony, faces frozen in pain. Draco staggered back, terrified by what his own mind had conjured.

He collapsed to his knees, his face buried in his hands, unable to silence the voices in his head.

That was how Hermione found him. She had noticed his absence from the library for days and, worried, had set out to look for him.

— "Draco," she murmured, approaching cautiously. "You're here..."

He didn't look up, shocked to see Hermione after more than 120 hours without laying eyes on her. Yes, he had counted the hours he hadn't seen her within his field of vision, and he didn't quite know why. But in his current state, shame and fear kept him from meeting her gaze.

Whispers, endless accusations, guilt-ridden screams—remorse he could no longer escape. Each image hit him like a blow. He felt trapped, suffocated by his memories. The tears he had been holding back for so long pressed against his eyelids, threatening to spill, but he couldn't let them. He couldn't let Hermione see his weakness.

Her heart clenched at the sight of him, shoulders slumped, looking utterly broken. He was there, yet not really there, as if a part of him had already fled.

— "I've been looking for you everywhere... Why don't you come to the library anymore?" she asked, her voice trembling with concern.

He sighed, silent pain etched onto his face. He moved slightly, as if to stand, but immediately stepped back, as if Hermione's presence made him even more vulnerable.

— "I wanted to be alone," he said in a choked voice.

— "There are things I wanted to forget... things I'd rather forget," he murmured, barely audible.

Hermione knelt beside him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

— "You can't keep going like this, Draco. You need to talk to someone," she insisted.

He shook his head, straightening slightly to look at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

— "And to whom, Granger? Who could ever understand what I've done?" he replied, bitterness lacing his voice.

He abruptly stood up, as if the idea of revealing too much terrified him. He took another step back, turning away to avoid her gaze.

His eyes were red, shining with the tears he refused to let fall. He didn't want Hermione to see him like this. He felt so weak, so lost. He had done things he couldn't erase, committed actions he couldn't justify, and the thought of Hermione seeing all that pain made him shrink into himself.

Hermione stared at him, at a loss for words. She knew the scars of war ran deep, but she had never imagined that Draco suffered this much.

Draco could no longer bear Hermione's gaze. He felt it pressing on him, unbearable, as if each second she spent looking at him tore apart the last fragile piece of him. Shame swelled within him—an immense, suffocating shame—along with a desperate urge to flee. Flee this place, this room, this moment.

— "Draco, wait!" she called, but her voice sounded so fragile, nearly drowned by the heavy air between them.

But Draco was no longer listening. He couldn't. He had to escape before he shattered completely. He couldn't let Hermione see him like this—not now, not in this state of utter vulnerability. He couldn't let her see what he truly was: a broken man, haunted by memories he couldn't erase.

He rushed out of the Room of Requirement, and without looking back, he found himself in the darkened corridors of Hogwarts. His footsteps echoed against the stone, but everything felt silent, frozen. Like an echo of his own solitude, his growing despair. The pain inside him seemed to intensify with every breath, every moment. He felt like he was drowning in his own thoughts, lost in this whirlwind of shame and fear.

He kept walking, aimless, with no real destination. He didn't want to return to the common room, didn't want to face the stares of his classmates. They had seen him in his strongest moments—his arrogance, his confidence—but never like this. Never in this fragility, never in this state of inner devastation. He couldn't let them see. He couldn't let her see.

The tears he had managed to hold back for so long began to fall, one by one, beyond his control. But he quickly wiped them away, angrily, as if he could erase them, as if he could erase the pain. He wasn't supposed to be like this. Not Draco Malfoy. Not the boy who had been raised to never show weakness.

Why did he feel so lost? Why had Hermione awakened this unbearable pain, this torment he had tried so hard to ignore? Why had her gaze reached him so deeply, so violently?

He turned into another corridor, heading for the staircases leading to the upper floors. He needed to be alone. He didn't need anyone, least of all Hermione. She couldn't understand. She didn't know what it was like to be torn between what you had done and what you had lost. And most of all, she didn't know how much he hated himself for what he had become.

He finally stopped in a secluded corner, out of sight, and let his back slide down against the cold wall until he was sitting on the floor, his face buried in his hands. He tried to steady his breathing, to regain control, but the memories kept crashing over him, consuming every thought, destroying every ounce of strength he had left.

— "What have I become..." he whispered through clenched teeth.

The tears now flowed freely, and he no longer had the strength to stop them. He had never thought he would reach this point, that he would one day be the boy crying alone in the dark, hidden away from prying eyes. But here he was, at this very moment—broken, hollow. And all he could feel was the pain, deep and relentless.

See you soon on chapter 15 ^^

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