Hello everyone! I've been gone a while now...but I'm back! I'm working on some new stuff...I know I have a lot of messages to reply to, and I'm sorry - I WILL do that as soon as I can. I've been working on this for almost a month now, in little snippets...whenever I have time, really. I hope that you enjoy it xx

"I don't want you to do this. They said that they might be able to do something - " his voice faltered.

"Do what?" she demanded, hands on hips, glaring up at him defiantly –

Sheltering the pain she knew she couldn't show.

"Save you." He whispered, before he looked her straight in the eyes – and they were as beautiful as he knew they'd be. "Save you." He repeated. "They said that there's a chance that something can be done if you don't go through with this." He paused.

"It's only a chance."

"A chance is a chance."

The words sounded strange, foreign, coming out of his own mouth, and he knew what he was saying was wrong, disgusting, but he had to say it anyway. Because if he didn't he'd be letting her go.

"We couldn't have had this conversation NINE MONTHS ago?" she spat. "Nine whole months you had to say this. And you choose NOW?"

"Just listen to me!"

"No, Draco! For once, you can bloody well listen to what I have to say!"

He was taken aback by the force in her voice as she stormed forward, and it was all he could do not to grab her, and push her up against the wall; kiss her, hold her, anything. Just feel her lying in his arms. Because he didn't know when – if – he ever would again.

But instead, he nodded, and swallowed, because you don't argue with a pregnant woman.

You don't argue with a dying woman.

She grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to look straight at her, and he tried not to wince at her nails digging into his shoulder…but in a way, he relished the pain. And what he didn't know, was that her gesture wasn't meant to hurt him, to show her dominance; but the opposite. She was anchoring herself to him. Because she didn't know how long she'd have before she started to drift away.

"I'm going, Draco. And nothing that happens between us is going to stop that."

"But - "

"I don't care what the Healers said. They're wrong. And even if there is a tiny, tiny chance, I'm not going to give up my baby for that." She looked up at him, fighting the tears trying to spill from under her eyelids. "Our baby."

"I don't - "

"Our child, Draco. I love him – her – whoever, whatever, more than you can imagine. And it kills me that I won't be able to kiss them when they cry, take them to Hogwarts, kick your arse in front of them to show them that girls are just as amazing as guys." She laughed, and the sound tore up what little soul was left inside of him. "But it's worth going, to know that I've left them with you. And that they'll grow up seeing the world in the way I never could. They'll be taught by you."

"God, Hermione."

"Don't you mean Merlin?"

"Now's not the time." He turned away, because he didn't if he could looking at her beautiful, upturned face any longer. "You know that if you spew all that sentimental rubbish, I can't say anything to you." He frowned, as realisation dawned on him.

"I meant every word of what I said." She hesitated, before forcing out a laugh, hoping its sound would break down his walls – let her in. "But hey. Isn't manipulation what I do?"

He spun round, eyes blazing. "You think this is funny?" he spat.

"Draco, I - "

"You're insisting on going, leaving me, without even trying to stop yourself?" he knew that rage – desperation – was twisting his words, but he couldn't stop them from pouring out. "You're dying, Hermione! And you don't even want to live!"

"I never - "

"And you want to leave me with our child?" he slowed down, breathing hard, the crimson mist slowly clearing from his vision. "I want this baby. But can't you see? Every time I look at his – her – face, every time I hear your child laugh, it'll kill me inside. Because I KNOW…in a way, I pray…that they'll be like you."

"And you think this is easy for me?" she yelled, not bothering to stop the tears now, and they tore down her face leaving smudged tracks behind them; marring the porcelain he so desperately wanted to reach out and touch. "You think this is bloody well alright for me, Draco?" she reached forward, and shoved him, hard, sending him stumbling backwards into the wall, and she pressed her body against his, her voice lowering to a whisper. "This is killing me, slowly from inside. There might be no need for the disease to kick in – what I'm feeling will probably leave me dead anyway."

"Don't talk like that." He pleaded.

"I'LL BLOODY WELL TALK HOWEVER THE HELL I WANT TO!" she roared, pushing him again. "I can't even deal with – oh, hell."

Her face had paled, and she was breathing heavily, doubled over her swollen stomach.

"What? What happened?" he stumbled forward, supporting her.

"I think the baby's coming."

He froze.


"The baby's coming – OW!" she cried out, doubling over again.

"But we still have two weeks!"

"THE BABY DOESN'T CARE!" she screamed.



He looked around hopelessly, then hesitated, before scooping her into his arms, half-dragging, half-carrying her to the fireplace. Quickly, he through in a handful of powder from a jar, and threw it into the flames, watching them roar into emerald-tinted life for a moment, before stepping forward and calling out:


And into the battlefield they went.


He didn't know how long it had been. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? All that mattered was her ragged breathing, coming in short gasps. Every time he heard her pause, he squeezed her hand so hard he thought he'd snap it – anything, to hear her yelp with pain, to know that she could still feel him beside her. When the last white-clad figure left the room, he finally turned to her, trying to ignore the bruised hollows that had formed beneath her eyes.

"It's not too late."

"Shut up." She grimaced.

"Please, Hermione!" he begged, clasping her hands in his – savouring the touch of her skin. "Please. You don't know what this is doing to me." His voice cracked, strained with the effort of knowing this was it.

She gritted her teeth. "I. Will. Not. Kill. My. Child."

And then the screaming began.

And finished.

At least, that's what it felt like, to him. He didn't realise that for hours, he'd stayed by her side – half-awake, half in a trance – and had whispered to her, kissed her, cursed when she'd cried out in pain because when she hurt, he hurt. He didn't know, because the whole time, only one thought had replayed, over and over in his mind. That once it was over, she'd be gone.

Just like that.

Exertion, that's what they'd said. That her body couldn't cope with the pain, the effort. And she knew that. Still, she ignored him.

His stubborn, beautiful angel.

He looked down, at the end of those hours of waiting, to see her crying with relief, hair plastered to her forehead. When he glanced over, he could see the Healers carrying a bundle over to them, its cries piercing the air.

And quite frankly, he didn't care.

"Hey." She whispered her voice barely a whisper, a rustle of paper.

"Hey." He replied.

But she wasn't talking to him.

She cradled the baby close to her, murmuring in her ear, almost crying with relief. And all he could think was that it should have been him she was kissing, whispering to, holding in her arms.

"It's a girl, sir." The Healer snapped him out of his trance, and he barely tore his gaze away from his angel to glance at her. He was transfixed by the gentle curve of her lips, the unruly perfection of her hair tumbling down her back, the warmth in her eyes. Those eyes. The ones she'd pleaded him with, and brought him back from the dead to the living. And she laughed, and he laughed, because he didn't care that she wasn't smiling because of him; it was just the sheer perfection of her being that made him want to never stop looking at her, grab her and never let go.

And then she screamed.

The Healers snapped out of their chaotic madness from around the room and began to run forward, but they were too late, because he'd already leapt out of his seat to kneel before her.

"What? What is it?" he knew the answer, but he had to ask anyway. Anything to deny the truth, to grasp just a few more seconds with her.

She screamed again, and he tried to ignore the heart-wrenching pain he felt inside to cradle her in his arms.

"Do something!" he shouted, smoothing her hair back from her forehead, and at once the room erupted back into chaos.

The baby – his baby – was whisked out of her arms, and he was suddenly pushed aside by a group of people who circled round the bed. He couldn't help but imagine them as vultures, wheeling around her, just waiting for her to –


He had to stop. He was wrong. It wasn't happening.

It was happening.

It wasn't

It was.



"Help me." She begged, gasping, and the level of noise slowly started to rise until he could barely even hear her. He threw himself forward again, and wrenched one of the figures aside to the corner of the room.

"Tell me what's happening." He hissed, gripping the girl's shoulder.

"Mr Malfoy." She winced, clearly biting back tears – whether they were from pain, of sorrow, he didn't know. "Mr Malfoy. You know what's happening."

"SHUT UP!" he roared, throwing her aside, and running to the bed again. "DO SOMETHING!"

"They're outside!" someone shouted, and in a whirlwind of white, the people suddenly disappeared from the room. He knelt down beside her again, and clasped her hand to his chest, letting the tears flow freely now. He could barely look at her face, because he knew that all he'd see was unimaginable pain, and just the thought of it felt like a knife to the gut.

"Breathe." He heard her whisper, and he forced himself to look at her twisted face.

"I should be telling you that." He murmured, gripping her tighter.

"Open the windows, Draco."

He looked at her again. "Why?"

"Are you really going to question me right now?" she smiled, and he felt his face set into a cast of stone at her words.

He walked over to the window and threw open the drapes, then turned back at her, trying to ignore the knot tightening in his stomach.

"I want to go outside." She breathed, biting her lip. The blood she drew was the only colour on her face – excluding the shadows creeping beneath her eyes. The entire expression was haunting, and it made him want to turn away, because he didn't know how much longer he'd could bear seeing her in pain.

How much longer he'd have to bear.

"Don't be stupid." The words flooded out of his mouth, harsh and unyielding, before he could stop them, and he couldn't pretend that he missed her flinch at his tone. "We need to stay here. So that the Healers can - "

"So they can what, Draco?" she cut in. The gentle, probing depths of her voice were harder to deal with than the anger he'd expected from her. "Please." She added. "Do this much for me, before I - "

"ENOUGH!" he roared, punching the wall hard and relishing the wave of pain it sent flooding up his arm. He deserved to be punished, for not doing something. Yet still, he scooped her into his arms and kicked open the window, climbing through to the sudden shock of cold outside.

She suddenly gasped, and he looked down sharply to see her grimacing again.

"What?" he asked, "What is it?"

"Nothing." She forced out, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Tell me." He demanded.

"Draco." She started, and then paused longer than she should have – but he waited, because she deserved at least that one moment of silence. "Draco." She finally began again. "If I told you every little thing that affected me, we would spend our entire lives in a mess of simply complaining." She grimaced again. "Not that I have much of a life left, anyway."

"Stop." He begged. "Please. Don't say that."

And she looked up at him, with that simple understanding of him that only she possessed, and in an instant it was just them in their fight against the world. "I'm sorry, okay?"


She paused. "Maybe okay will be our always."

He frowned. "You stole that line. From a book."

"Muggle." She smiled. "The Fault in Our Stars."

"Yeah. You stole it."

She cocked her head, as well as she could, dangling in his arms. "But isn't everything we have and do, stolen?"

"Stop trying to be poetic."

And in that moment, he loved her more than he ever had.

"Draco, put me down." She smiled at him, and he forced himself for what must have been the millionth time to look away for her face, because it was simply to beautiful, and he didn't deserve to see her. His logic, reason – all obscured in the moment, and all he could think was that he had done nothing to earn her, and her love.


"Just." She smiled again, and he knew that he had to do as she asked.

He lay her down, and sat beside her, trying to ignore the sight of the dew from the grass seeping into her robes, and the tightening of her jaw.

"Look at the stars." She whispered, squinting up at the empty darkness of the sky.

"There aren't any." He frowned.

"No." she smiled.


"No. See, they're there. You just can't see them."


"That's how it'll be with me."

"Hermione - "

"I promise. You won't be able to see me, but I'll always be there for you."

"I - "


And he couldn't stop himself. He leant over her, holding her face in his hands, and he was kissing her, and the dew was soaking into his clothes but he didn't care, and he was still kissing her, and she was kissing him, and he didn't know whose tears were soaking his face, and he was kissing her like he'd never kissed her before, and it was just them against the world, and he was holding her, and he was kissing away their pain, and he was drowning, and he was drowning in her, and then she was kissing him –

And then she wasn't.

He pulled away, and she was lying there, motionless, lips parted, and he could still feel where they'd been a second ago.

"Hermione." He shook her shoulder, brushing away the stray hair from her face.


She was there. But it wasn't her anymore.

"Merlin. No."

And he was crying, heaving sobs that shook his entire body, trying to deny what happened but knowing the inevitable truth.


At once the lawn was a mass of white figures, running around, trying to shake him from his trance – futile.

A single cry pierced the air, and he looked over to see a bundle swathed in cloth screaming, little fists reaching out to her motionless body –

To her.

Did she know? That it was her fault? That she killed her mother, his beautiful, indescribable soul mate?

The bundle let out another wail, and the helpless Healer held her out to him.

He walked away.


There are angels who guide us.

And angels who save us.

You saved me.

But now you're gone.

I guess you fell from Heaven.


That makes you fallen.

A fallen angel.

There we go. I'm not too sure how this turned out - I haven't written for a long time, so I guess that I'm getting back into it. I did really enjoy writing this, however...and if you'd like to tell me your thoughts, as always, I'd love to hear them =)

Love you all,

Tris xx