Say Something

Chapter 31

Draco sat in their living room waiting into the late hours of the night after he left the Manor. Stephen and Hermione haven't returned from the hospital yet, and Draco was certain they wouldn't let him anywhere near her room.

Suddenly, the door opened and keys were dropped on the table next to the door. Draco stood quickly and was immediately struck by just Stephen's presence. "Where is she?" Draco questioned.

Stephen sighed, clearly tired from a long day, "She's staying overnight for observation."

"You can't observe her here? What's wrong? I thought you were just running tests!"

"We are, Draco," he told him sternly, "But the tests are strenuous and although she's doing remarkably better than the others she's still weak. And the results we've collected....well, nothing is definite."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco spat.

Stephen sighed, "It means I'm not going to tell you anything."

"I'm her husband-"

"Exactly. You're the person who cares about her the most and I'm not going to give you false hope."

"I'm not fooling myself, Stephen. I know she's dying. I just want to know what I can do," Draco felt his voice crack, "I just want to know how long we have." Draco collapsed back onto the sofa and dropped his head, clenching his eyes shut in frustration. He could feel Stephen's eyes on him, so Draco said, "Just leave me alone if you're not going to say anything worth hearing."

Stephen remained in the room, and Draco was much too preoccupied in his own thoughts to give a damn. It wasn't until he heard the thud of paper hitting the coffee table in front of him that drew him back to Stephen. "She isn't healing, but there is something that's been prolonging her life," Stephen explained, "But....the more we stretch her time, the harder the fall will be."

"What are you saying?"

"We can't keep saving her, Draco. We will try until she tells us not to."

Draco remained silent, and Stephen continued, "But you have to ask yourself....is she really living for herself anymore?"

Draco looked up at him, no longer caring that Stephen saw his watery eyes. "What do I do?" Draco asked.

"I can't answer that. I'm sorry," Stephen replied. He left Draco and escaped into his bedroom. 

Time stretched on that night, as Draco sat alone in their living room. The house felt eerily empty, even with Stephen sleeping just a few doors down. Draco knew it had to do with her not being there. It would be the first night in a long time that they haven't spent together, and it absolutely destroyed him. He looked from his hands and noticed the various picture frames lined across her mantle piece. Draco stood slowly and walked over to the still and moving photographs. The first picture on the left did not move, and it was with herself, no older than 5, with her parents. Draco smiled at the little freckled Hermione and moved to the next photo of her 12 year old self, just about to board the train to Hogwarts with her Father right next to her. He could only imagine how a muggle - no, a witch - with only the knowledge of magic found in her books might feel about being whisked to a totally different world. To be completely honest, it terrified him, but Hermione was always much braver than he ever was. The next picture was, of course, with them. He knew to this day how Hermione carried a void in her heart fit for Harry and Ron, a place Draco could and would never fill. His eyes moved to the next picture, which carried the faces of almost every Gryffindor in their year and even more so. In the picture, Ron had his arm wrapped around Hermione, who sat closely to Ginny whilst Harry pulled on a strand of her vibrant red hair.  Draco always envied the relationship between the housemates but couldn't help but smirk at the image. His gaze travelled to the next frame, which was a picture from the Weasley's home at the dinner table. The amount of red hair in one photo nearly made him look away if not for Hermione's sweet smile at the camera, or in that moment, at him. The second to last photograph caused him to frown but he knew he shouldn't. It was a photo of Hermione and Ron, sitting next to a lake. Neither of them looked up, like they didn't know the photo was being taken. Hermione plucked the grass where she sat, while Ron simply looked down at her with a look of content. Something in Draco's heart twisted just then as he studied the photograph, but as his eyes moved to the final picture frame, he stopped in his tracks.  The final picture held himself, looking down at something in his hand. The picture image of him then looked enough and smiled brightly at Hermione, who must have been holding the camera. He walked towards the camera and moved it away, chuckling as he did. It was the happiest Draco had ever seen himself. He gave into the purest form of happiness, and it was the first time he ever allowed himself that opportunity. 

Everyone on this mantle piece was who Hermione lived for. And that was what made her strong. But she was dying, that much of it was clear. Her time should have ended a long time ago until she met Draco, and he supposed that changed everything. She put everything in its rightful place in his life, and now....maybe it was time now to make it up to her.