:::I Can't Stay Away:::
An unspoken understanding passed between them after their brief encounter on the balcony, one that told each of them to keep their distance. As a result, Hermione didn't see much of Draco in the coming weeks. She spent as much time as possible outside of their dormitory so that she wouldn't have to face him—hoping that separation would lessen the pain that wasn't numbing, wasn't fading away.
It only succeeded in making it worse. Every time she did see him was like a smack across the face, a knife in the heart—stabbing quick, lasting long. She couldn't bear passing him in the corridors or seeing him from a distance, knowing that he was going on with his life. She wondered if he missed her, if he even noticed her, remembered her. He seemed to be moving forward without a backward glance.
Was it because he didn't care? Or did he ache as much as she did? She supposed she would never know.
Every night, she dreaded going to sleep. She would stare at her bed with weary eyes, exhaustion overwhelming her. But how could she rest when he wasn't there? How could she sleep without him next to her, holding her close, making her safe? His masculine scent still haunted her sheets, bringing tears to her eyes every time she pulled them over her body. No matter how tired she felt or how long she closed her eyes, she couldn't slip completely into unconsciousness. How could she, when she was more than conscious of the empty space beside her in the bed?
Harry and Ron's worry had intensified with her lack or animation. Her appetite was decreasing; she was talking less and less—smiling almost never. And all of it was happening in painfully slow increments—painful because no matter how slow the changes were, the boys seemed as helpless as ever to stop them. History was beginning to repeat itself, and they didn't know what to do, didn't know how to make it better.
"Have you seen the Daily Prophet?" Ginny asked early on Saturday morning.
Solemn heads bobbed in silent confirmation.
Virgil Haley, veteran Auror and long-glorified leader in the search for Lord Voldemort, had gone missing like so many of his dark-battling brethren. It was big news, so much bigger than the stories in the newspapers that they'd been poring over these past weeks. But it was hard for either Harry or Ron to care very much about it. The war looming over their heads seemed like nothing but a rainstorm in the back of their minds compared to the silent battle they were currently waging with Hermione.
"You were right. There's no doubt about it now," Ginny went on, looking from her brother, to Harry, to Hermione. "You-Know-Who is behind it all. It's just gone on too long and been too much to be coincidence."
Harry sighed, his eyes on Hermione. "You haven't eaten anything, Mione," he told her quietly. She had lost some weight, he realized with frightened eyes. Five pounds, maybe six—a small amount to some. But on a girl Hermione's size—and with her history—it was absolutely terrifying. "You haven't even touched your food. And you barely ate anything last night at dinner." Hermione's brown eyes were glazed over. She was looking at her plate as if it were some distant place; Harry wasn't sure she really saw it. "Hermione?" he pressed.
"I'm not hungry," she told him automatically, the words a whisper, soft and robotic.
"Eat anyway," Ron commanded, his voice rough and threatening, as if warning her that he'd force it down her throat if he had to. Anything to prevent the past from becoming the present…
Hermione shook her head. "I'll only be sick afterward," she informed him sadly.
"We should take you to the infirmary, then," he argued gently. "I'm sure Pomfrey will know how to make it better."
