Silence is strange. Very few times in a person's life will things be truly, completely silent. Life always continues around you, bringing with it the background noises you barely notice: birds chirping, cars, aeroplanes, dogs barking...

But being alone in his cell, with no one and nothing around him, Draco is in complete silence. The only noises keeping his lonely existence company are his soft breathing and his gentle heartbeat.

That is, until footsteps sound outside his cell, their recognisable pitter-patter echoing down the hall. Surely it can't be feeding time already? They gave him a bowl of lumpy soup less than two hours ago. And the two Gryffindors had only visited him two days ago. They'd have no reason to return.

Unless.

Unless something had happened to Hermione. Had she gotten worse? They told him she'd woken up but what if that was a lie? What if she really died and they told him she was okay until they could work out how to tell him? What if Darius had somehow gotten out of his hospital ward and sought her out to finish what he started - taking away Draco's love as he believes Draco took away his?

He sits up in bed, eyes trained on the door to his cell, where he can hear the footsteps growing louder. Three lots of footsteps. A guard, Harry, and Ron.

Ice claws through his veins, slowing his heart nearly to a stop.

What will he do without her? He planned to keep her out of her life for her own sake. He had already accepted the possibility of knowing he'd never see her again, but at least in that scenario he'd know she was safe. How will he survive the rest of his life locked away in Azkaban knowing he caused her death?

The footsteps stop outside the cell and Draco can hear muttering, but nothing loud enough to distinguish any words.

Just get it over with! He thinks, hating not knowing. Just come in here and tell me the truth!

Instead of the jingle of keys he's expecting as the guard unlocks the door, he hears a bold, 'Alohamora!' The door bursts open and there she is.

His Hermione stands in the entrance, a flaming silhouette against the light outside his cell, her wild hair framing her beautiful face. She stands tall and strong and powerful and gorgeous and wonderful. Surely, it can't be true.

'Draco.' His name sounds so amazing coming from her mouth. 'Draco!' she repeats louder, rushing to him. His arms lift of their own volition, encompassing her in a hug to last a century. 'Draco, I was so worried,' she breathes, crushing her face into his neck as she pulls him closer.

'You were worried?' he asks, resisting the chuckle that threatens to accompany his disbelief. 'I was worried! You nearly died, you stupid, stupid witch.' He buries his own face into her tangled hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her. 'Why are you here? How are you here?' he asks, only now becoming aware of the lack of guard accompanying his lover. Instead, Harry and Ron wait awkwardly at the entrance to his prison.

Hermione sniffles and Draco knows she's resisting the temptation to cry. 'I had to see you,' she answers, not pulling away from him. He's not ready to let her go yet, either. 'They told me you weren't eating or talking or doing anything and I had to make sure you're alright!' As much as Draco is glad to see her, he knows she shouldn't have come. She may be recovering but there's no way she's fully healed from what that bastard Darius did to her.

As much as every muscle in his being resists the motion, he pulls back from her. Placing his thumb under her chin, he tilts her head up to meet her gaze. Losing himself in her chocolate orbs, Draco smiles sadly. 'You shouldn't have come.'

'You don't get to tell me that,' replies Hermione, her voice flattening.

Draco's expressions softens. 'Please don't be mad at me,' he begs, knowing what's coming.

'You haven't called me as a witness to the trial!' she yells, fury lacing her tone. 'You haven't called any of us!' she continues, motioning to Harry and Ron. 'How do you expect to get by without us?' she asks, incredulous, her brown eyes ablaze.

'I'm not putting you through another trial,' replies Draco softly, reaching out to touch Hermione's cheek, but she pulls back.

She rises from the bed, putting space between them. Too much space. 'That's not your decision to make!'

'Actually... it is. Hermione, you deserve better than this,' says Draco, wanting more than anything to draw her back into his arms and make all of her pain go away. 'I don't want you to have to live your life worrying about me. It's not fair on you.'

Hermione rolls her eyes and huffs, her anger giving way to sarcasm. 'What's not fair on me, Draco, is someone making my decisions for me! I want to be there!' As if flicking a switch, all of the anger and defiance in her stance give way and she slumps back onto the bed, tears in her vulnerable eyes. 'I want to be there for you,' she repeats in a wavering voice. He pulls her back into him then, trying to comfort her with his warmth. 'You've lost weight,' she mutters again his shoulder, but Draco doesn't respond. Even if he hadn't been starving himself, the rations they provide here would have resulted in his weight loss anyway. When Hermione's shaking fades, he pulls back again. Lifting his fingers to her cheeks, he brushes away the remains of the salty trails indicating here despair.

'Hermione. I love you. More than anything else in the world-'

'-I love you, too-'

'And I hate to be this selfish. But please, I need for you not to be at the trial. For me, please don't fight this.'

Tears well up in her eyes again and Draco loathes that he is the cause of them, but he knows he must stay firm on this. After an immeasurable silence, Hermione nods. 'Fine,' she agrees, before falling back into his embrace. 'But I'm not happy about it, Draco.'

'I know,' he says, stroking her hair calmingly. 'I know.'

'Guys, I hate to break this up, but we need to leave,' states Harry, who Draco had forgotten was present. 'The guard has woken up.'

'Woken up?' asks Draco, confused. As understanding dawns on him, he asks, 'did you knock out the guard?' A sheepish expression on the face of all of the supposedly noble Gryffindors in the room answers his question. 'I suppose you may all have made good Slytherins. Go, before you get into trouble.'

Hermione shakes her head, burying into him further. 'I don't want to leave,' she moans. 'Let me stay.'

Draco smiles despite the situation. 'I'm not letting you get into any more trouble on my behalf, my little bookworm. Go. I'll be fine.' Before Hermione can protest further, he places a finger to her lips and pulls her to her feet. 'I love you.'

'I love you.'

With that, he watches his witch leave, wondering if that's the last time he'll ever see her.

..

Heads in her hands, Hermione is numb to all around her. If someone were to ask her how long she thought she'd been sitting on this bench in this position, she'd probably guess at a century. In reality, she knows the length of time is a lot shorter. Probably only an hour or so. Still, when every second that ticks by is another torturous moment for her to worry about the outcome of Draco's trial, which is happening but a few metres to her left, she would be forgiven for feeling like it's been longer.

She knows if she were to raise her head and peer around her, she'd see Harry and Ron sat opposite her. It had taken precise two and a half minutes for Hermione to realise she couldn't stand the sympathetic looks they're giving her, and it had taken precisely three minutes for her to place her head in her hands to avoid them. So here she is, with nothing but the darkness of her closed eyelids, the quiet but frustrating tick of the second hand on the clock on the wall above her head, and her thoughts to keep her company.

Her dark, dark thoughts.

She'd managed to stay positive for approximately the first twenty minutes, remembering that, during the last trial, some of the Wizengamot had voted in Draco's favour. She'd focused on how they'd recognised his honesty when he sought redemption for his sins.

However, as the trial dragged on, all Hermione could think about was the possibility of Draco going to Azkaban... or worse. They'd all seen how powerful and dangerous he was after Darius had attacked Hermione. Having been unconscious for the ordeal, Hermione only knows what Harry and Ron had told her of the spectacle... and it wasn't promising. What if they thought Draco still sided with the dark side of magic?

Despite the emotional war raging throughout her body, Hermione is surprised to find she has no desire to cry. Maybe her body has finally realised that crying does nothing to improve the situation. If so, it's sure been a long time coming.

The courtroom has been silenced, so Hermione can't even listen in on the proceedings inside. Anything could be happening. At any point in time, Kingsley could be sentencing Draco to death, or to a lifetime of imprisonment, or to the Dementor's kiss.

Her thoughts taking a sharp turn, Hermione recalls the time Draco had saved her from a Dementor during the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco, who'd thought he was too evil to ever cast a Patronus, had attempted it without even a second thought to save her soul. The thought momentarily brings a smile to her face. They'd come so far since their school days, where they both took pleasure in exchanging petty insults and minor jinxes. Her mind turns to the time in third year where she'd punched him for risking Buckbeak's life. He's grown from a spoilt brat of a boy into a courageous, selfless man. She smiles again, but it quickly fades as her thoughts darken with the reminder that she may never again get to be with that amazing man.

Lifting her head, Hermione glances at the clock; it's been one hour and thirty two minutes since the trial started. She can't remember how long the last one had lasted, but she's sure it hadn't taken this long.

Turning her attention to anything other than the trial at hand, Hermione surveys the decor. Relatively plain, the walls are an off-white colour, freshly painted. The bench she is sat on is a soft cream colour, with a thin cushion lining that does little to increase its comfort. She doubts the comfort of the loved ones of those on trial are of top concern for those in the Ministry. Further down the hallway, a healthy Areca palm plant sits in a dark blue pot; the only decoration in the long corridor. As her gaze flickers back to her friends opposite her, Ron offers her a weak smile. Fortunately, he doesn't ask the most pointless question in the world at this point - 'are you alright?' Because of course she isn't alright.

She wonders idly whether things would have been easier if she'd fallen for Ron like she'd always thought she would. As they grew older, an awkward attraction had befallen the two friends. Unfortunately, that attraction had faded on Hermione's side whilst it had grown on Ron's. Still, there was a time when she'd assumed they would eventually end up together. She'd pictured their kids: his trademark ginger mixed with her curls. A little girl, probably called Rose - Hermione had always liked the name Rose - and a little boy she'd probably have let Ron name, within reason (she was not having a son called Chudley, after Ron's favourite Quidditch team). The dream was short lived, though, as her feelings fell back into the realm of platonic. She loves Ron, but just as a brother rather than a lover.

Her musings turn to the raven-haired boy to Ron's side. Whilst Hermione had never seriously considered a relationship with Harry, she recognised that they worked together on paper. Whilst Ron's short temper has always been a turn-off for Hermione, Harry is more level-headed. Where Hermione and Ron clashed, her and Harry worked. They were far more compatible. Yet the spark was never there, especially with Harry's unwavering feelings for Ginny. She smiles to herself, amused at the thought of being in a relationship with Harry. It just feels wrong.

Having successfully distracted herself from the situation, Hermione is brought back to the present as the large wooden doors to the court room are pushed open, and Draco walks out. He looks somewhat stunned, and Hermione fears the worst.

Rising quickly to her feet, she crosses the short distance between them. 'Draco?' she asks, gripping his arms tightly in her small hands, her eyes frantically searching his face for any hint as to the outcome. 'Draco, what's the verdict?'

Draco looks down at her then, and a grin spreads across his face. 'They let me go free.'

Author's Notes: First things first - I'm sorry this has taken so long to write (again). I'm hoping that the outcome will pacify you all! I'll go into more details about what actually happened in the trial in the next chapter, don't worry :)

Please leave a review so I know what you all think!