Note: Omg... I'm still alive!! Yes, and so is the story! There are absolutely no excuses that could make up for my long absence. All I can say is that I'm sorry, but I really appreciate it if you still keep on reading me. I have a few chapters already written now, so updates should be more frequent (it won't take 6 months, I swear). Now that this is said, on with the story.

Chapter 14: Meeting The Family

The two girls sat cross-legged on Hermione's bed, each sporting a very annoyed look on their faces.

"Our lives suck," resumed Ginny after their hour-long rant about boys. Namely Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley. One would know which of the boys had been mentioned first by each girl.

"Yeah. It really stinks," agreed Hermione.

"I can't live my life with Harry even though we love each other..."

"... and I have to live my life with Malfoy even though we can't stand each other."

"It sucks," repeated Ginny after minutes of silence.

"Indeed."

There was nothing more to say. They had resumed their problems in a simple sentence and they couldn't do anything else but to agree with what they had previously stated.

"School starts tomorrow," said Hermione, in an attempt to change the subject.

"It sucks even more, then. I'll see him everyday," brooded Ginny.

For once in her life, she couldn't agree more with her girl friend. Hermione wasn't as excited as she should have been at the prospect of her return to Hogwarts. She wasn't Head Girl, she'd get married during her first Hogsmeade weekend, she would endure make-up sessions with Lavender, and she and Ginny would be confronted with their guy troubles each dreaded day.

"It's noon already. I have to go. And you should, too, before he comes to get you," sighed her friend. Of course, it had to be noon. No time left for her to flee to a foreign country and change her identity forever. She hopped from her bed, immediately followed by her fiery red-haired friend, and they quickly bid each other goodbye. They'd reunite again at the train station anyway. There was no point in dragging it out.

Hermione was left alone in her room until Malfoy would dare show his untrustworthy face. That is, in exactly ten minutes.

There was a weight on her shoulders that kept bringing her down and it was only his fault. Even worse; she sensed she wasn't able to hate him anymore. It could very well become a problem if she continued like that.

She hadn't been able to hate him since day one. She had pitied him, yes. He had disgusted her, exasperated her, yes. But she couldn't bring herself to hate him. She couldn't even hate Voldemort, for God's sake! Because hating someone truly was something only an evil, desperate being could manage to do.

She had enjoyed dancing with him –of course, it had ceased the moment he had returned to his old self– and she clearly remembered the fluttering feeling that had occurred when he had proposed –even if he had done so in the most unflattering manner possible. Every time she saw him, she had a glimpse of her own failure. She felt drawn to his eyes and it disgusted her even more than his sickening behaviour. When they were arguing at his manor she had felt lust towards him and it was a completely horrible thing to even think about now. How shallow... his body was definitely perfect and she felt drawn to it. She couldn't even stand him but she felt drawn to his stupidly handsome body. Damn quidditch.

One could have called it a crush, but she was completely out of these silly little school-girl fantasies. Really, she was.

And she certainly wasn't nervous about who they were going to visit either.

"Oh Granger, I didn't know you were so shallow... or is it that you finally noticed that the size of your head is twice as big as normal?"

Of course he had to come in early, enter her bedroom without knocking, and scare her to death with an insult before she could have the time to analyze what was happening.

"About time you saw me. I thought you'd drown in that mirror of yours if you continued looking at your reflection like this," he huffed, affronted that she had ignored him for such a long time.

She hadn't realized she had been staring at her own self in the mirror while she was thinking until two seconds ago. She looked into the reflecting glass, wondering what it was that had drawn her to it.

"Do we really have to—"

"Yes," he cut her off in a tone that made it perfectly clear that there would be no other choice.

"We could just—"

"No." He didn't let her finish again, because he already knew what she was going to say. It was quite predictable, really, seeing what he had asked her to do with him.

"Can't you—"

"No, I won't go alone," he answered before she had the time to complete her question. "Besides, it would be pretty difficult for me to present my future wife to my father when she's not accompanying me," he drawled, again bringing forth her 'obligations' as his betrothed.

"You don't need his approval. Thus we could just forget about Lucius and leave him die in excruciating mental pain," she suggested with a malicious glimpse of despair.

"As appealing as you make it appear, Granger... the answer is still the same. You will visit my father today, in my company, and without further protest or I'll be forced to silence you yet again."

His answer had been cold, detached, but somehow she suspected he had tried not to go ballistic on her. She hadn't spoken of his father's situation with the best of tact or delicacy, and she may have subconsciously insulted his pureblood family ego, or something akin to that.

She swore it would be the last time she'd propose to forget about any rule, be it a school regulation or a marriage law. Exception made for the 19th one, of course, because she planned to get rid of that one very, very soon.

She sighed, defeated. She wasn't in the mood to fight, today. She wasn't willing to move either, though. A cruel dilemma indeed. Would she choose fighting or moving?

Perhaps moving would prove less demanding. And she'd get to see Lucius in misery –she didn't hate anyone, but she surely didn't love the Death Eaters. Maybe it'd be a show worth seeing, although she knew she wouldn't be able to enjoy it.

At least she could reassure Harry. He always worried about New Azkaban's security; dementors enjoyed the freezing air in altitude, and the now ever-floating air-traveling jail seemed to content them enough in that area to give them a bit more power. "They're more difficult to tame than furious bulls on steroids," joked Dean, Ginny's boyfriend for the past month.

It turned out he was right, after all.

"I'd suggest you wear a coat. It'll be cold out there."

'No kidding,' she thought. Did he imagine she was an ignorant four-year-old? Azkaban was floating about two kilometres high in the skies, of course it'd be cold! What a moron...

She grabbed her worn-out long winter coat, her Gryffindor scarf and gloves –it would annoy him to some extent– and after a moment of hesitation, took the broken silver watch and the matching cigarette box that had belonged to the Pure –or the First, or whoever it was– to put them in her pockets. She wasn't willing to visit Lucius without so much as an object to help her remember she wasn't an inferior being. It was the way she felt around him. And if these objects had the same effect on him than they had on his son, it'd lessen her uneasiness a great deal.

"Why are you bringing these with you?" Malfoy brutally asked, in a half-angered, half-scared fashion. She still couldn't fathom the reason they bothered him so, but one day it would soon be clear as crystal... and she was waiting for this since her floo-powder accident.

She didn't bother to answer him. She had enough of a hard time controlling her urge to laugh at his fearful expression. Surprisingly enough she managed to conceal it very well, and he returned to his trademark smirk without a second glance at the two objects.

"We'll have to perform a side-apparition," he informed her. Hence the smirk.

She lost all the colour she had left. They would be... close. Argh. That was infuriating. Somehow she was sure he did everything in order to aggravate her. She didn't know how he managed to do it, but he did.

"Come on, Granger. Come hug your beloved fiancé," he cruelly joked, hands reaching towards her.

"Pig," she just had the time to spit, before he swiftly jumped on her, imprisoning her in his arms. The side-apparition was so quick but still so awkward that she lost whatever the thought was she had prepared to share with him. She let it die in the back of her throat as she stared at the place he had brought her to.

Although it was little past noon, the luminosity was close to none. It was a relatively small field, about the size of an elephant, bordered by threateningly close black, rotten, half-dead trees. There were no leaves on the ground, just blackened yellow grass that hadn't seen the sun for an eternity. There was an eerie muffled singing that came from around them, vaguely sounding like a child lullaby, but the atmosphere of the place made it appear as though it was threatening. As she looked up at the sky, hoping to see at least a bit of blue, or a cloud that would reassure her of a more inviting existence, she could see nothing more than an immense, tarnished floating soil that could only support one thing: New Azkaban. The bottom of the structure standing in midair, about the size of an entire island, sometimes let drops of earth fall like rain on the surface beneath it; the field where Hermione and Malfoy were standing, for instance.

There seemed to be no way out—and even no way in—the gloomy jail. Nervous, she glanced in Malfoy's direction, who had distanced himself from her as soon as they had arrived. He seemed to be waiting for something or someone, so she supposed that this mystery person would know how to enter the dreaded place. Meetings between the prisoners and the outsiders were made on specific appointments; maybe they were waiting for a guard that held a portkey of some sort?

They waited in uncomfortable silence for another 10 minutes before they could see a silhouette appearing out of nowhere, heading towards them. The shadow became clearer and clearer until they were able to guess it was a short man who, from their point of view, seemed to be sporting a jelly-ish thing on his head.

"Mr. Malfoy and his wife, I presume?" said the dwarf in a squeaky, annoyingly big voice.

How dare he...! Wife? Had he called her Malfoy's wife? Aaaaaargh! The stupid ferret had played with words again!

"I would appreciate it if you could make it quick," sort-of commanded her insufferable companion.

"Of course, of course," agreed the little man as he finally reached them. Indeed, there really was a blob thing on his head. Hermione had the distinct impression that this man was crazier than any of the prisoners currently in Azkaban.

"Let me lead the way, then. Let me lead the way." He motioned for them to follow him, wearing a creepy smile that made Hermione shudder. This guy was entirely creepy. Who but a creepy smiling dwarf would wear a jell-o hat?

But they followed him despite his strange way of being. The little man had taken a ridiculously narrow path where roots and branches made it nearly impossible to walk through. When they finally reached their destination, Hermione had stumbled upon everything possible, had earned herself a few bruises, and two bold cuts hadn't stopped bleeding on her left cheek. Malfoy, who had been walking behind her all the way, looked as perfect as always, save for a misplaced wisp of hair.

"Here, here. Can you see them?" The strange man asked each of them, pointing somewhere behind them.

"Of course," scoffed Malfoy.

Hermione couldn't see a thing: "What are you talking about?"

"What? Can't you see them?" said Malfoy, surprised.

"See what?"

"Those big, black... horse thingies!" he exclaimed.

And then everything clicked. Thestrals. But what in the world... had he seen someone die? There had been some casualties in the last days of school, before it had happened, but everyone had remained alive. No lifeless bodies. And he hadn't even been there, the Slytherins' Common Rooms were too far away from the Astronomy Tower.

But she couldn't ask him anything yet. Maybe it was a sensitive subject, she didn't know. Did not want to know for now, either.

"They're thestrals, Malfoy."

He apparently understood why they had remained invisible to her.

"There are only two of them," he said, quite confused, to the creepy dwarf, who nodded his head in his creepy way before answering:

"Yes, yes. I guide you, beautiful newlyweds."

What the...? Oh, right. The little one had a thestral for himself, but they had to share. Curse the day she was born if destiny had really wanted her to live through this.

"God, help me," she pleaded under her breath.

"I'll help you alright. No need to lower me to the level of a mere god," sniggered Malfoy, as he had somehow heard her.

"God, I hate you!" she murmured, meaning both the real and the self-proclaimed one. Luckily Malfoy did not hear that one.

She was really glad about her choice of clothing today. First thing in the morning she had asked herself whether to wear her denim skirt or the pair of pale jeans her brother had offered her –they had received an order of those for a trip to the muggle world a witches-only school had planned. She couldn't even imagine what it would have been like, wearing a skirt while riding a thestral with Malfoy.

Speaking of the devil, she had been so engrossed in her horror-movie-like skirt situation that he had been forced to lift her on the black creature before mounting it himself. He was even getting to the point where he had to secure her position by sliding her arms around his waist when she had woken up from her reverie.

It was his fault if she had accidentally hit him when she had freaked out. He just had to say he was about to help her... or not. She would have freaked out to this too. Anyway, she would certainly not apologise. It was his own fault and that was it.

"Don't leave my sight! Don't leave my sight, dears!"

Would he stop repeating himself or was the damn dwarf enjoying his giving people the chills by acting like that?

They left the ground at once just when she had snuck her arms around Malfoy by herself. He seemed as tense as she was with the closeness of their position, as she could judge from his stiffness. She reassured herself by thinking that the trip wouldn't last more than two minutes before they'd reach New Azkaban.

The more they approached the fortress, the more she gripped his waist –she was not conscious he was near dying before he began gasping loudly for air. She did not like flying or seeing dementors. And the fact that she was doing all this in order to follow his will of presenting her to his father just because the stupid pureblood traditions said so was not comforting in the least. And so she continued on enlacing him with her death grip while being careful not to choke him again.

There was a long bridge-platform that led to the only entrance of the cold place; at the sides were "stables" where half a dozen thestrals were looking at them with cannibalistic, hungry malevolent eyes –but Hermione greatly doubted this last part since Malfoy had told it with more mockery than what he had the habit to use with her. He helped her get off of their beast without a hint of delicacy.

"Relax, Malfoy. I'm not a potato sack. Throwing me on the floor will not heighten my acting skills in pretending I'm madly in love with your father's ideals."

He shot her a furious glare and she couldn't help but to snicker. Oh, he wasn't so proud now, was he? Poor little lamb on his way to visit the big bad wolf… It was a shame he had decided to bring her along too. What, did he think she had developed suicidal tendencies over night?

"Oh! OH! The shame! I forgot to take out your wands!" whimpered the creepy dwarf with the jell-o hat. She'd name him Gideon. And John would be the blob monstrosity on his head.

Gideon extended his arm, expecting them to hand out their only defence against the horrors of the place. Hermione looked lovingly at her wand before handing it out to their guide, feeling like a mother abandoning her child. She didn't enjoy the feeling. And she was growing colder. She could easily imagine her rosy cheeks or blue lips… she unconsciously wrapped her arms tightly around herself, even if she knew it wouldn't help her any.

Malfoy was having trouble leaving his wand in the hands of a stranger, much less to a stranger that was acting like a crazed maniac. But he had no choice, really. He hadn't come that far to suddenly turn around and flee like the coward his father had always thought he was. His anger towards Lucius' bad opinion of him sufficed to decide him in the end. He wasn't a coward. And he was free, now, while his father was sentenced to pass the rest of his cursed life in there: Azkaban. When you really thought about it, there was no place near as appropriate as Azkaban for a man like his father. A black man without a conscience deserved to be in a place without hope. There was no pitying him now. It was just the way things were supposed to be.

"You follow me, young couple. Follow me!" the dwarf ordered them, occasioning a grateful sigh from Hermione. Was she freezing so much that she wished to enter that dreadful place now? Malfoy couldn't help but wonder. Couldn't he just have ignored the pureblood traditions for once, and content himself to present her formally to his mother?

No, he needed not to think about such disobedience. He had to follow the stupid dwarf along with Granger and confront his father. And maybe mock him if he had any chance before the visit ended. He wouldn't have any other occasion to gloat in Lucius' face. Certainly not when he had a public –Granger was only one person, but a public nonetheless.

"I leave you to the care of young Helen here. I will leave you to her so she can guide you through the maze and protect you from the dementors with her strange ways. Strange ways she has! Can you believe she is able to cast a patronus?"

The two teenagers didn't utter a word because no comment needed to be said. Crazy, creepy, odd dwarf who found it amazing for one to be able to cast a patronus.

"Please, follow me," commanded a rich, soothing voice coming out of nowhere. Rather, it seemed like it came out of nowhere until she gradually appeared out of the wall. Oh God, she was a ghost able to cast a patronus.

What was the world coming to?

"Hurry up, dears! We mustn't be late for it would get him mad, and we don't want that just now, don't we? No, not until his trial is finished and this odd one is finally sentenced…" she spoke to herself from the moment she had told the first sentence. Was it possible that dementors had rendered her crazy as well? If she could cast a spell, maybe they had an effect on her as they did on living beings… or maybe she had been mad from the beginning, like Gideon. They would never know.

When finally they stopped in front of a door marked 'IX,' Helen informed them that she would return in about 15 minutes and that until then, a derived version of muggle surveillance cameras would, well… survey them. But she assured them that if there was a problem she'd go for help right away.

Such reassuring words indeed.

Malfoy didn't falter a second when he pushed the door open, nor did he when he entered the room and motioned for her to enter as well. But she knew perfectly well that this was just one of his many illusions. His mask of indifference was too perfectly imitated to be true.

"Hello, father," he declared at last. She had been afraid he'd never say anything when she had seen him so absorbed in his observation of the prostrated figure in one of the room's corners. Lucius Malfoy, favoured Death Eater of Lord Voldemort, wasn't the proud –scratch that, sickly arrogant– man he had once been; his prisoner clothes may have been made out of dust; that would have explained a lot of things. Namely his desperate appearance or the floating 'old and abandoned scary mansion' smell that lingered through the room. He didn't look at them, but he did lift his eyes in her direction. He didn't see her.

A hand in her pocket, she gripped one of the two Pure's objects she had brought with her. She wasn't invisible. She wasn't an inferior.

Finally he returned to looking like his old self, minus the arrogant smirk –he couldn't manage to draw that one out now.

"Hello, my son," he greeted, his rich voice filling the cell. She shivered at the sound, griping the Pure's object tighter. She recognised it as the silver pocket-watch, the one with too many hands that spun either too rapidly or too slowly, sometimes even in the wrong direction.

"What has made you come to me, Draco?" A commanding voice, a powerful one. And a question that hadn't been said out loud. What was this girl doing with him?

"As the pureblood traditions command me to," explained his son, lifting his chin to give himself some courage to speak, "I have come in search of your approval for my betrothed, Hermione Granger Vandemoortele." Draco took her left hand to his lips when having said so, and she made no move to protest as he had explained how important it was that his father thought her worthy of a Malfoy. Thus she needed to appear obedient –if she provided enough effort, he had promised he'd ask Lucius about the Blue Owl Lunatic.

She lowered her gaze. She couldn't bear looking at Lucius Malfoy in such a way –and he'd guess how she really felt towards him and his side of the war. How she wasn't an obedient and shallow wife that would obey to his son's every desire.

"Tell me, Draco," said his father after a long silence. "Tell me why you did come here with your betrothed."

Hermione looked up at him for a split second, curious. Her gaze shifted to her fiancé; still he had his perfect mask on. The one she could see through only when she didn't need to.

"Like I just told you, father, I…" He was quickly cut off by an angry Lucius.

"TELL ME THE TRUTH, YOU UNWORTHY SON!"

They both jumped at the sound of his frustration, but he wasn't finished yet.

"Tell me you did not come here to watch your father in such a position? To gloat in my face?"

'I'm entering a very convivial, trusting and loving family', thought Hermione, glad to see her prejudices against the Malfoys reveal themselves as true.

"Has your mother been imprisoned too, to excuse her lack of visits? Can you not help a father that raised you with every rightful principle, every lesson that you needed? I TAUGHT YOU THE WAYS OF A TRUE MALFOY, DRACO! I taught you how the world really worked, I introduced you to the Crabbes and the Goyles and the Parkinsons so you could learn to think like you do, like a pureblood! A PUREBLOOD, Draco, who understood the ways of the Death Eaters, the SUPERIORITY of his RACE!" He was shouting more than she had been prepared for, and not for the reasons she had first come up with. No one had visited him since his imprisonment. But it was just the way things were supposed to be, murmured a voice in the back of her head.

"I did come here to seek your approval of my fiancée," the son maintained after he had regained his composure, "but it is true that I didn't come here just for pureblood traditions, as much as I respect them."

Lucius waited for him to continue, as he had returned to his previous poised self.

"I wanted to ask you to tell me about one of your dearest friends that has not been arrested yet. He owns a blue owl."

His father looked sternly in his direction, but made no move to signify he recognised the guy. And with that feeble description Hermione wasn't so surprised.

She considered telling everything she knew about the guy, but then her act of obedience wouldn't survive. Interiorly grunting, she tiptoed to Malfoy, nudged at his shoulder so he would lower his head, and she whispered in his ear the information she was able to remember.

Her father-in-law switched his eyes in her direction and he sneered approvingly. 'The wife that could only speak through her husband's mouth' was a play she had seen too much when living with her adoptive parents. But it was the kind of act one expected to be praised by Lucius Malfoy.

Her companion looked at her, eyebrow elegantly raised in silent wonder. She just nodded, encouraging him to display his newly acquired knowledge.

"This man had a daughter, but she died about 10 or 11 years ago. I think one of his aunts is named Emily. He never used the killing curse because he thinks it isn't exciting enough, and he could very well be obsessive over girls like Hermione here."

She perceived a sudden recognition in Lucius' eyes, but he feigned ignorance: "I am in no position to answer such a question, Draco. I do not know this one you are talking about."

Did she really have to do everything for him? How could he believe his father just like… that? Stupid ferret!

"He lies," she murmured in her future husband's ear, once again playing her role of the 'ideal wife' to perfection. Brusquely he turned to meet her gaze with his own; he changed from unbelieving and surprised to a form of anger –anger that she hoped was aimed at his father, not her.

"Your mouth twists reality, father."

Lucius, upon seeing that the two teenagers knew more than what he'd have wished, returned to looking like a rag in his corner of the room.

"You are not searching for a man I know," he cruelly laughed before imprisoning himself in his own silence.

Hermione sensed she had grown cold to the bone. Not a man? She thought. And thought, and thought, and thought, and… well you get my drift. A girl? No, it didn't appear like a girl's writing. It was too childish, too sloppy. Maybe a kid? No, he said he had had a little girl. Maybe it was a humanoid? It made sense… Stupid Malfoy Sr., talking in riddles. Aaaaargh.

With a look of disgust –directed at his father– occupying every parcel of his face, Malfoy forcefully grabbed her upper arm and immediately dragged her outside of the room. It was so difficult to "follow" him –she didn't really have a choice, what with his iron grip on her arm– with his quick, furious steps that she had to stumble several times, and dodge unexpected columns that kept appearing out of nowhere. "Where are we going?" she asked, in a panicked voice. She did not recognise the halls. They were dull grey, so unlike the white stones she remembered seeing while they were walking to Lucius' cell. Draco didn't stop, quickened his trot even.

"Malfoy, stop! We're not supposed to be here, we should have waited for Helen to―"

"Yes, Granger, we should have! We should have waited for Helen, we should have turned left maybe, we should have brought veritaserum for that scumbag to tell us the truth, but what we should have done hasn't been done, so stop whining!"

She had hit a nerve without knowing it. Touchy. But he was so frustrated he wasn't a threat anymore; his anger was clouding his judgement. It would have been the main reason of their being lost in the halls of New Azkaban, frozen, alone, and without a wand to call for help. She felt colder than what reason permitted; and she somehow knew that it wasn't the cool air but rather the near presence of the dementors that was affecting her.

And dementors, on their part, had somehow understood that new, fresh prey, had entered their territory, outside of any protection a guardian of the prison would have been able to provide.

They swam in the direction of the two teenagers, one very aware of their approach.

"M-Malfoy," she stuttered, stiff from both the cold and apprehension.

"I know," he responded through gritted teeth. Having stopped running through the unknown corridors he was getting less and less comfortable in the icy air.

The first dementor came into view, at the opposite side of the hall, about fifty feet ahead maybe. The others would be coming soon, and it was inevitable; the two suddenly found the other's presence very comforting and they hugged each other close, on a primal instinct for reassurance.

God, they couldn't even say they were already dead because the dementors would leave them as zombies after their kiss. It was the worst death they had ever imagined they would get… and they were about to experience it in less than a minute.

"When I say 'go' we run for our lives," suggested Malfoy.

"They're surrounding us," she countered.

"Well then, we should scream for our lives," he said, sarcastic.

"There's no one around here to save us," she mechanically retorted.

"I say you stay here and do the bait while I escape –I mean, while I go get help."

"You're being delusional now. Maybe you –aaaagh!"

The dementors had approached quite rapidly and one of them had begun sucking her soul already. "Granger!" he screamed, panicked. A second dementor stacked her, and a third, a fourth –he hadn't been touched, but he wasn't relieved. He realised he was still holding her by the arm, his arm gripping the fabric of her coat, and it was the only thing that kept her standing.

She couldn't find the strength in herself to cry, to express the pain; she was way past that. Of course she sensed it; like she was being shredded to pieces, over and over again, that she was being reduced to ashes, or skinned alive. But all at the same time she did not feel anything. Her nerves had most likely hit overdrive and her brain too. She could hear Malfoy's breathing and she would have laughed if she had possessed the strength, just like she wished she would have cried. She saw his left hand moving from her arm to her face –so he had been holding her all along then? Well, he was quite the gentleman. It was such a shame she was not going to live to tell it to the world, that indeed there was hope for him to have a heart.

Malfoy was afraid. He had laid her on the ground because he had sensed she would collapse soon; gripping her arm with one hand, steadying her by the waist with the other. He was breathing hard, standing over her, his face inches from her face. He quickly shot it back, however, when he saw something, a ball of light, coming out of her open mouth- her soul. She was leaving her own body, and he hadn't been touched by the swirling dementors yet.

"Shit!" he tried to scream. It came out as a strangled sound, one that came of his holding back the tears. She seemed paler when exposed to the light of her soul. He towered over her again, leaving his hand on her arm to touch her face, to see how cold she was.

It was all very slow, his hand approaching. She had the time to think. It was stupid. She had forgotten to send Harry's gift, it was in her drawer. Would someone find it, her brother, her father? Surely they would understand it was for one of her friends. She had no use for a snitch replica.

Would she have a burial? She would not be physically dead, after all. Maybe the Ministry workers would figure something out. If they captured her body maybe they could kill it and be done with the funerals. Would the Avada Kedavra work on her soulless corpse? All interesting questions but she would not be able to reach for the answers.

His hand was two inches away from her forehead. He wanted to check if she had temperature? Maybe if she was ill the dementors would reject her soul.

Speaking of soul, she was being taken away from her physical envelope and it was very distressing to say the least. She could barely recognise herself. And Malfoy looked genuinely concerned –and panicked. She would not hold grudge against him for his being more fearful for his life than being concerned about her health.

He hated her, anyway. That made him an evil and desperate bastard. She would have liked figuring out what he was desperate for, though.

One inch away. She would not see her whole life passing before her very eyes, because she was not about to die. It would be much, much worse.

Three quarters of inch away now. Why was she measuring the distance between his hand and her face? It was quite stupid… and useless, too. But it helped pass the time somehow.

Half an inch away. Why was she not completely destroyed? Dementors were sucking her soul away. She should have felt something else than pain. The freezing air, perhaps. Instead she felt warmth encircling her. And she could almost see her soul getting back to her body. Strange, she thought she was a goner.

Perhaps Helen had sensed they were in danger and had come to their rescue. Highly unlikely, but she did not see the time passing.

A third of an inch. Why was Malfoy not affected by the dementors? He should have been in pain too, just like her.

Okay, now she was being selfish. She still possessed her good thoughts, her happy memories. It confused her.

He touched her forehead with his left hand, which was soon joined by the other, and he held her face in his pale fingers. Maybe if he held her enough she would return alive and well, soul and body reunited.

But what did it matter? He was going to die anyway.

It was all his father's fault. If he had helped them correctly instead of coming up with some random words he, Draco, wouldn't have needed to get as far away as possible and then get lost.

He had gotten lost because Lucius had made him angry and it clouded his vision.

He was about to die, or get a dementor kiss, and it was entirely his father's fault. He did not even get his approval about his betrothal.

The first attack on his person came, as he had expected. However, none followed. It ached.

Hermione's soul was getting back to her body and the dementors seemed desperate to stop it from continuing.

If they weren't about to attack them two at the same time, perhaps they'd be saved. It gave him some hope, and a new strength.

"Forgive me, Granger," he murmured, as he lowered his head towards her own.

And he took her in his arms, bridal style, while her soul took the last step to re-enter her body. The dementors would not abandon their prey, however. They would not touch him while at it; if he was quick enough they would get near Helen, or another guardian able to cast a patronus.

Hermione cried in pain when he picked her up, her senses coming back to her with her soul, but he was not about to let her down. He wasn't a coward. And he certainly was not like his father.

One of his hands brushed against one of hers, and he got hold of it. Her fingers were cold, but her palm was burning to the touch.

He felt warm, too. He stopped from his feeble escape attempt, stopped running, walking, or whatever he had been doing. He looked down at her tortured expression, and he had just the time to close his eyes before the light overcame his senses.

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Again, thanks to everyone who waited and stuck by me! ;)

P.S. This is for you P.-A.:P

Featherstrike