Disclaimer: i do not own these characters or harry potter, i'm simply borrowin them from dear jk for a little while:)
It takes time.
Chapter 1: late nights
Hermione bolted upright and wiped away the tears which had left silvery trails along her cheeks. Her eyes had a glazed appearance and she visibly shivered as the cold night air slowly chilled her bare arms. Another nightmare? If only it was that simple, but unfortunately it was not the terror of imaginary figures which kept Hermione awake night after night, it was the memories.
Hermione stretched and pulled her unruly mass of bushy curls out of her face. Shaking her head softly, as if in an attempt to rid herself of the vivid images which tormented her, Hermione pulled on her dressing robe and slowly made her way to the kitchen.
"Nearly a year…" she mused. Nearly a year had passed since the war. Nearly a year had crawled by since Hermione's parents were tortured and murdered before her very eyes while she lay bound and gagged, unable to do anything to help them. Nearly a year had passed since Harry Potter, her closest friend and sole true confidant died in order to save the wizarding world, taking with him the most evil wizard of all times and saving countless innocent lives. Nearly a year had passed but it was much, much longer since Hermione Granger had had a full night's sleep.
As the kettle began to whistle, Hermione was pulled from her memories in search of tea bags. She rummaged in the closest press but to no avail. "Typical", she muttered as she turned towards her box of tea leaves. Ron had given the box to her as a joke at Christmas, hoping to make the pretty brunette crack a smile. He had even summoned a pair of thick glasses and a bottle of sherry, and adopted a very professor Trelawney like persona as he attempted to read 'deep into her future'. Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust at the thought of that idiotic woman, but snorted as she recalled the image of Ron wrapped in shawls and trying to act all mystic. "Good old Ron" Hermione smirked. She had not had many reasons to smile since the war but despite her curt responses and distant expressions Ron had constantly tried to put the sparkle back in her eye. And had constantly failed miserably…. But he still tried and that's what mattered to Hermione.
Moving to the stiff couch in the library of grimauld place, where she had resided since the war, Hermione opened her latest book and began reading to while away the hours until the sun rose….
Draco sipped his fire whiskey as he sat alone in the library of Malfoy manner. A cloud suddenly moved in front of the moon casting the room deeper into shadow. His eyes glazed over as he started into the fire, his thoughts on another time and place. Sleep did not come easily to Draco and when it did, it was filled with the monsters of his past.
Images of his father, spread eagled and broken, his mother, beaten and bloody and Voldemort's cold heartless red eyes, staring sightlessly upwards swam before him but these were not the images which tormented Draco. No, rather these were the images which comforted him and allowed him some meagre amount of rest. The images which haunted him were far worse and he only wished that he had been able to prevent some of the atrocities he had seen.
"Pureblood", he snorted at the thought. There was no such thing. It had taken him years to realise it but now the message had truly sunken in. There was nothing pure about the blood that had run through his father's veins. And he felt like the true mudbloods were the ones like him, those who had been tainted by the blood of men like his father.
"How could anyone believe that stuff?" he silently questioned himself, even before the war had started. Unfortunately the threat of his father's wrath had always prevented him from showing his true feelings, forcing him to become a miniature copy of the vile man responsible for his conception. Draining his glass, Draco grabbed the bottle and poured himself another generous measure of amber liquid. Most men drank to relax, but Draco only drank to forget….
"Nearly a year…" was the last coherent thought that passed through Draco malfoy's head before he lost consciousness. Nearly a year, yet the memories were still as vivid and distressing as the days they happened…..
A\N : well thats the first chapter! a little dark perhaps but it won't stay that way! so please review! even constructive critism is appreciated :)