Four months pass as a blur in the Malfoy manor. Draco can hardly tell the difference between minutes and hours, or separate the days from the weeks.

His chest has long since healed up from the curse, but it aches anew with a whole other type of pain. A horrid sort of agony, one that he would happily trade for another blast of sectumsempra if only it would go away.

Except nothing will make it disappear, because four months have passed and Hermione Granger was officially assumed dead two months previous.

The Daily Prophet had went haywire with the information, writing article after article about the evil Weasley and his nefarious plot to kill his former lover. For weeks her face was plastered to the front page of the Prophet, a constant reminder of what he's lost. Even now, two months since the press made the official call, she holds a place in the paper.

War Hero Tragically Killed By Ronald Weasley, a title that appears in some corner of the paper on any given day of the week.

No one knows where her body is, though not for lack of searching. Harry has been leading the search in a desperate rage along with the rest of the auror department and Ginny has contacted every source she knows to help find her best friend. Draco hasn't any clue how the pair is coping in private, but to the rest of the world, they present a strong force that no one dares cross in their grieving time.

Every day Draco will ask for the paper to be delivered to him, seeking out some good fortune. The paper is always burned without fail. Good news doesn't come.

Never would he have imagined that losing her would bring him this much heartbreak. He's far too attached to a woman who doesn't love him back and it's too late to change anything about it. His feelings don't seem to want to fade.

His mother sees this and more.

Besides the heartbreak, she's forced to watch her son waste away before her eyes. Time and again she has tried to drag him back from the brink of deterioration. She gives him all his favorite foods, talks about his favorite books, attempts to make him laugh when she can, and gives him his space when she can't. Everything she tries only ends with the same frown etched onto his face and his eyes gazing unseeingly through her.

For all intents and purposes, Draco seems to have passed along with his love. It doesn't take long for the physical appearance of him to start to support this idea. He's gone near gray with his lack of food, or rather, his refusal to eat until she convinces him to. His form, always so slim, is now little more than skin stretched over bones. She fears for his health and is sure to keep a mediwitch on call to watch over him.

Draco speaks so rarely, only drifting silently about the halls like a ghost that's lost its way. He never acknowledges anyone besides his mother, though occasionally not even her, and those are the worst days. Nothing can compare to the torture of the nights, however.

It's once the sun has set and Draco has finally drifted off to sleep that she can hear the cries. His moans of misery as grief haunts even his dreams, tearing him apart from the inside out. The sound echoes through the manor, worrying her and the house elves, who all care so deeply for the young man.

Countless times she has tried to comfort him during the nights, but the wards he's cast on his room keep her out. Not once has he allowed anyone into his room while he slept, for a reason she cannot understand.

It's nearing the end of his fourth month home from the hospital that she knocks on his door early one morning, knowing him to already be awake.

"Draco, open your door and come out. I'd like to talk for a moment," Narcissa calls as she raps her knuckles against the wood. She listens for sounds on the other side of the door, hearing nothing at first, then the distant murmur of words as the wards are removed. Once silence falls, the door opens a crack. "Draco? Are you coming?" He doesn't reply, and Narcissa pushes the door open.

It catches on something heavy halfway, leaving a space just wide enough for her to squeeze through. Taking a breath, she steps through, and bites her tongue to hold back a gasp. It's obvious, now, why she had never been granted access while he slept.

The room is wrecked. Clothes in shreds scattered about, furniture in splinters, glass shattered, walls busted and floors torn up. Nothing is intact or untouched. Every nook and cranny has been in some way damaged, and it's a pure miracle that the windows are still in place.

The hairs on her arms raises and a shiver runs down her back as a strong sense of magic washes over her.

"What's happened in here?" She breathes.

Draco lays at the very center, surrounded by the remains of his bed. His eyes flick briefly to her before turning back to the ceiling. He doesn't speak until Narcissa is at his side, hand resting against his cheek.

"Once, when Hermione was upset, she overturned her entire room. Blasted it all to bits." A humorless chortle makes its way out of his mouth. "I suppose the idea worked its way into my head while I slept. When I dream, my magic lashes out like I'm a child who's just gotten their power." He sits up slowly, casting his gaze about the room. "I'll fix it, like always. Just give me a moment to gather the energy.

Normally, Narcissa would hardly stand for these sort of actions. But her son aches, and she knows this kind of hurt very well. She'd felt it herself when Lucius had been taken away, and then again when she realized how truly wrong everything he had believed was.

"What do you want to talk about?" Draco asks, catching her attention.

Narcissa clears her throat and waits until Draco looks her way. She's choosing to leave the matter of his room alone. "I was wondering if you might do me a small favor?" Without responding, he stares at her in that unseeing way, waiting for her to finish. "Run to Diagon Alley for me. They've just brought back my favorite fudge at the sweets store and I'd love to have some for after dinner tonight."

She prays silently to any greater being that might be listening that her son will believe the lie. This is not for self-gain. She wants only for him to leave the manor, just for a little while.

He focuses on her, searching for deceit, then sighs and shoves up to stand on what's left of his collapsed bed. "Anything for you mother. Though Merlin knows why you want to send me when everyone still believes me to be dead."

She grins and says nothing.

Pulling a cloak from the rubble, he draws it tightly around himself and covers his head with the hood so that he's entirely hidden. With a final nod, he lifts his wand and turns sharply around, leaving the manor for the first time in months.

Draco drifts through the cobblestone streets, unseen by anyone. He keeps to the shadows of the shops, staying well out of sight, lest someone recognize his face and realize that the obituary is wrong.

Catching sight of the sweets shop, he scurries inside. The bell jingles overhead and he cringes as the shopkeeper bustles towards him.

"What can I get you?" The older woman asks, ducking her head to get a better look at him. Draco twists his head away, keeping the hood low over his face. He stares at an assortment of chocolate.

"Fudge. My mother wanted your newest flavor..." he flounders for a moment, realizing she never said what it is.

The woman smiles, bright and understanding. "Raspberry chocolate swirl," she says with a decisive nod. "Just started making it again yesterday and everyone seems to want to buy out my entire stock of it." She makes her way behind a glass showcase and reaches inside, carefully cutting out several squares of a pink and brown fudge.

"Just a few pieces," Draco murmurs distantly, not entirely focused anymore.

"Of course," the woman replies. She measures out a pound with a mischievous smirk but Draco doesn't notice that she had given him far more than a few pieces. Rolling her eyes, the woman wraps up his order and sets it on the counter.

Without waiting to hear the total, Draco places two galleons on the counter and takes up the fudge.

"Sir, this is far too much," the woman says, eyes wide.

"Keep it the change," Draco insists, turning his back on her and opening the door. He slides the fudge into a pocket in his robe that's been magically extended and slips outside. She speaks again, but he's gone before she can finish.

Briefly, he considers apparating, but decides against it. Walking might clear his head and tire him out enough for a full nights rest that won't result in a wrecked room.

He wanders aimlessly for several hours, long after the shops all close for the day and the streets empty. His mind is filled with nothing, or maybe so full that he can't focus on any one certain thought. Whichever it might be, all that matters is that for the first time in a long while, he's not bothered by his own thoughts. It's the most relaxed he's felt since waking up in the hospital, but of course, all good things must end.

Had his head been up and examining his surroundings, the entire mess could have been avoided. As it is, his head is not up, so he collides with something hard enough that it sends him sprawling to the ground.In the end, he's thankful for it, after he overcomes the shock.

Head hitting the stone, he groans quietly and closes his eyes to fight back the wave of nausea. Above him, he hears a gasp and then something else falling to the ground.

"Oh my! Are you alright, sir?" A feminine voice questions.

Draco opens his eyes and blinks in a dazed fashion, waiting for his vision to readjust. "I'm fine," he grumbles.

Not seeming to hear him, the woman goes on. "I wasn't watching where I was going and I ran right into you," she explains, though it isn't really needed.

"You don't say?" Draco mutters. He sits up and rubs the back of his head, wincing at the tender spot where he'd hit his head.

She cries out, "your head!" The volume does nothing to elevate the pain. "Oh Merlin, it's bleeding." Without him noticing, the woman has made her way around to his back. She prods at his head, making him jerk.

"I'm fine!" Draco spits, clambering back to his feet. He realizes then that his hood had fallen down when they had collided and he's very thankful for the darkness of the side street their on. Whoever this is would have surely heard of him at some point, and seeing his face would have ruined any chance he would have at keeping his recovery a secret. "You can go. I don't need your help," he continues, ushering her away.

The woman sniffs indignantly and walks around to his front. It's only then that he gets a proper look at her, though a bit difficult in the darkness, and can't help but feel as if something is familiar about her. "If you're going to be so awful then you can bleed to death for all I care," she bites out, bending to pick up the bag she had dropped.

With a final, scathing look, she turns and stomps off. Well, she tries to. As she's moving away, Draco's arm shoots out and he snatches her wrists. Startled by the restraint, the woman whips around with eyes blazing in cold fury. Using her free hand, she pulls her wand.

"Listen, you disgusting prick," she hisses, low and quiet. "I'm not someone who should be trifled with. Get your filthy hands off me or I swear on everything you love that I'll blast you into the next millennium." Her wand points at his chest, a place people seem to really enjoy destroying lately.

He pays her wand no mind. Instead, he presses her back against the wall of the building behind her, not pinning her, but not letting her escape either. He looks into her eyes again. "Who are you?" Draco asks. Something in him already knows the truth, but he's too afraid to be hopeful.

The woman wriggles in his grasp, even opens her mouth to shout a spell. Draco takes her wand and tosses it over his shoulder. A spark of guilt bites at him when he sees a glimmer of fear in her eyes, but she stamps on it just as fast as it had appeared.

"I'm going to tear you limb from limb," she snarls, straining against his hold. "I'll make sure you never breath again, you pig. You'll wish you could have been locked up in Azkaban after I'm through with you-"

"Silencio," he says.

Robbed of her voice, the woman's eyes widen and her struggles turn frantic.

"For just a single moment, will you stop struggling? I'm not going to hurt you, I just want to figure something out," he huffs, looking closer at her. Thankfully, she goes still, but doesn't look anymore at ease.

She appears to be normal, through and through. Long hair that's perfectly straight, though currently braided back to keep it away from her face. Her skin is smooth and tanned, like she's spent far too much time under the sun. None of it mattered to him. The only reason he had stopped her, the only reason he cares, is the eyes.

To anyone else, they would mean nothing. To him, though, they mean something else entirely. They're melted caramel, so full of warmth and joy, and so familiar. He knows these eyes. Only one person had eyes like this, one person in the entire world, and she looks nothing like this woman before him now.

Frowning, Draco lifts his own wand and whispers the counter-charm. "Finite." The woman's jaw drops and she can only stand there as her false appearance fades away.

He watches as the girl changes, and he can't be anymore pleased by the result. As blonde hair turns to the brunette locks he's come to adore, something loosens in Draco and he wraps his arms around her and pulls her flush against his chest.

"I can't believe it's you," he whispers, squeezing her tight.

Wordlessly accio'ing her wand, the woman shoves it into his stomach and forces him away. She pushes him back until he's against the opposite wall, held in place just as she had been. He looks at her with a smile, practically glowing with pride. She's never been more perplexed.

Thankful that the finite had also cancelled out his silencio, she questions, "who are you? How did you know that I changed my appearance?"

Draco peers at her, thinking perhaps she might be playing a joke. Seeing that she's being genuine, he laughs aloud. Maybe the alley really is too dark for her to see. "Merlin, Granger, I knew we weren't that close, but is that any way to greet a friend? Especially one that nearly died!"

Hermione frowns, not understanding, and then it hits her. Quickly murmuring lumos, she looks up at him in the light her wand provides.

"That's impossible..."she breathes, shaking her head and backing away. Her hands are shaking. "I watched you die! They told me, told the entire world, that you'd died!" Her back is pressed against the wall again and her entire body is quivering with fear. Or shock, maybe. Whatever it is, he thinks it hasn't hit him yet. He's far too happy to see her for any other reaction to have a place in him right now.

"Funny," he says eventually, "they said the same thing about you."

Hermione gazes at him warily, taking several slow breaths. She waits a moment before speaking. "I saw that, too," she manages after a few minutes.

Draco nods. "Come with me, back to the manor. We can share our stories and we won't be bothered." He puts out his hand, not pressuring her to agree, but hoping beyond all hope that she will.

She watches him for a moment, debating her options. For a brief second, she entertains the idea that this is some cruel prank, but no one speaks and acts the way he does. Hermione grabs his hand and allows him to apparate them away.