She had concluded that scars looked decidedly strange on his pristine, porcelain skin. She studied them intently in the soft morning sunlight. They were splayed out on the bed, the sunlight streaming through the curtains to illuminate his slumbering form. Sheets covered his naked lower half, giving her only a view of his torso and arms.
There was more than enough to look at there.
The red, thin scars that curved around his stomach and chest spoke of the short battle he had with Harry in the lavatory. Harry, despite not knowing what the spell would do, had sent it with deadly accuracy into Draco's body, lacerating it deeply. Snape had done a wonderful job at healing him, but the scars remained as a reminder of darker times.
If the platinum haired boy rolled over, she'd been able to see the long, wide, faded scars across his back. The whippings in his childhood and torture from the Dark Lord to keep his mother in line. On his lower back, a spiderweb like scars overlapped the others and curved around his side into his stomach. A curse he had taken during the final battle. It was brighter pink that the others on his back.
His arms were peppered with long, thin scars at various stages of healing and fading. They had talked about his coping mechanisms before, the self harm and alcohol helping him numb the pain of following a mad man. She had asked once why he hadn't asked for help, why he had stayed silent for so long. Her heart ached for him and the injustice of it all. Why couldn't they have helped him too? He smiled faintly at the time.
"My mother is a gentle woman. Strong, yes, amazingly so. She's cunning, intelligent, ruthless when necessary, but ultimately a gentle woman. She desperately loved my father, or at least, the man my father had been. She often told me of 'simpler times' when blood purity didn't matter so much and they were just in love." His smile was so soft, and so sad. "It broke her heart to watch my father descend into what he became. A part of her die when V-" he choked on the name before swallowing thickly, "Voldemort came back to power, she lost my father and she was in constant fear that she would lose me as well. I needed to protect her, and when Voldemort gained power by the day and leaving was a death sentence, I saw no other choice."
His smiled turned bitter for a moment. "Not that Potter and the rest of you would have listened long enough for me to ask." It wasn't said in an accusatory tone. It was self deprecating. He never believed he deserved kindness.
She shook the memory away and continued down his left arm. There, in stark black against his pale skin, was the vile mark that had once made her shiver in fear. The skull glowered at her as a snake smirked from between it's teeth. A truly fitting image for Voldemort, she had always believed. Draco's mark, however, was not what it had been during the war.
The first year at Hogwarts post-war had been a rocky one. The castle was near finished with completion, but the marks of the battle were still felt. The Houses had small numbers and many students didn't return. It had taken years for the Great Hall to be once again full.
She was the only of the trio to return. Harry had been offered a position in auror training, which he had happily taken. He had always dreamed of being an auror, and she had always suspected that he felt restless right after the war. He wasn't used to living in safety, in peace. He needed the rush of danger, it was the only constant he'd had for his entire life.
Ron had been recruited by a Quidditch team and happily toured the world to play matches. He had all the fame he could ever had dreamed of. It went to his head at first, making him rude and cocky. They had many rows about the way he was living, hemorrhaging money on stupid things. They made up each time though and she was always happy to see a letter from him attached to an owl.
Many offers had been thrown her way as well, but she wanted to finish her time at Hogwarts. With the war over, she had the chance to really enjoy being there without the threat of death hanging over her head. She remembered the bright, happily, curious girl she'd been when she'd boarded the train to school for the first time. She wanted to feel that same hope again.
It had been lonely at first, people were still healing and it was strange to be back. It almost felt as if they were trying to pretend that it had never happened. It frustrated her to no end. She found peace with Neville, who had expressed similar feelings. They spent a lot of time together, along with Luna, Ginny, Seamus, and Dean. Others from their year had returned, but Hermione found it hard to relate to people who hadn't been close to what happened. She wouldn't say that she avoided others, but she definitely kept to her friends.
Only five people from her year's Slytherin house had returned. The most unlikely five people she could have guessed.
When she stepped onto platform 9 ¾, she had been shocked to seem him. His white-blonde hair was hard to miss. Several feet away from her, Draco Malfoy was hugging his mother tightly. She could see his lips moving against her hair. They pulled away from each other a moment later and the woman put her hand on Draco's cheek. She turned away from the scene, feeling like she was watching something very private. She hurried onto the train.
Later in the ride, once the train was well on it's way to Hogwarts, she'd seen him with Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, and the Greengrass sisters, Daphne and Astoria. She had paused outside their door to stare in abject wonder before she hurried on down the walkway, not wanting to be caught staring.
She could hear the muttering about them all throughout the train. Insults and harsh words were spit and thrown in their direction, glares heated and hands balled into fists. The anger made her uncomfortable. The war was supposed to be other and the fighting should have ended. She knew that it was stupid thinking. Even she still had such unresolved anger. But she didn't see the logic in pointing it at those who didn't deserve it. She didn't know how to place it, maybe it was the look on his face when his mother had held him, but Malfoy was different. She just knew it. She tried to ignore the chatter around her.
Not to her surprise, the train was a mere glimpse at what the Slytherins should expect. Every kid sorted into slytherin was viciously booed by the other houses. She could see the pride and light dim from their eyes as they scurried for sanctuary at their table. Pranks were pulled, cruel and teasing at first. They escalated into twisted ankles and bleeding fingers, falling futher into broken arms and shattered noses. It all made her sick and as Head Girl, she strove to protect them any way that she could. She was scorned for it, but her friends supported her wholeheartedly, helping when they could.
She had thought that they were making progress, taking a step in the right direction when the teasing and pranks ceased for a short period. She had just begun to hope when she'd heard it. The blood freezing groan of a muffled sob of pain. She hurried down the hall, her cloaks billowing behind her. She rounded a corner and was sickened by what she saw. Several tall Gryffindor boys stood over a huddled body kneeling on the floor. Even from this distance, she saw his bright hair and pale skin.
She stalked toward the group before she even had time to think. Her wand was drawn and her face pinch in fury. The boys, credit to them, looked terrified as she advanced on them. The scurried away from Draco and stared.
"What in going on here?" she demanded in an even, low tone. The boys glanced to one another before the tallest of the three stepped forward. He steeled himself before speaking.
"Caught this one roaming the halls, wanted to make sure he didn't cause any trouble."
She looked at him for a moment before looking to Draco. The boy had turned from kneeling on his knees to sitting on the floor, grasping his arm and huffing in pain. She turned back to the boys.
"FIfty points from Gryffindor, each. Return to the tower immediately. I will speak with the Head Mistress in the morning to discuss your punishments. Leave. Now."
They ran off without another word. The corridor quieted as their footsteps got farther and farther away. Only his quieting breath was heard.
She knelt next to him and touched his arms gently. He jumped away from the touch, scooting away from her and glaring. It as a weak looking, an injured animal growling when it only knew pain. Her heart hurt.
She attempted again and he watched with careful eyes as she took his arm and pushed his sleeve up slowly. The fabric was sticky with blood. Her stomach didn't roll, like it once might have. The war had changed everyone.
Her eyes read the word crudely carved into his arm. 'Murderer' stared back at her.
Like she was twelve years old again, her stomach rolled painfully hard.
Now, the word stared up at her in a much softer light. The scars had faded very well, she'd been very attentive to the healing process to ensure that the scars would be as light as possible.
He'd been very mistrusting at first. He stared at her reproachfully and would whispered insults. Never once was it about her blood though. It was half hearted teasing about being a know-it-all and a goody-two shoes. It was almost playfully. Slowly, the conversation turned casual and polite, and slowly toward friendly. They grew close. Even when the cuts were fresh scars, perfectly healed, they continued to meet. They studied together in quiet corners of the library, ate snacks under the trees at the edge of the forest, walked to the Great Hall together on occasion. It was comfortable. She felt like she had known him forever. The feeling was mutual.
Slowly, their friend groups began to grow together, sensing a change in the two. It was refreshing to meet new people again, people who understood the little times when the panic would reappear, when the depression would grip them, when the rage would overtake their thoughts. There were rows sometimes, but it was always smoothed over quickly with quiet apologies and nods of the head.
They often ate together. They were seen walking down the halls to class and studying at large tables in the library. They all had classes together and would quickly pair with each other when given the chance. Some were seen in pairs. Blaise and Ginny often talked to each other about Quidditch, sometimes until each was red in the face. Neville, Luna, and Daphe were found near the lake, reading about herbology and studying aquatic plants. She, Astoria,and Pansy walked to classes together, sometimes giggling and whispering to one another. The rest of the houses followed the example that was set. The teasing stopped and the houses began to unite again. Every student felt the change, like a physical thing in the air. It was like everyone letting out a big breath of relief. Teachers relaxed, students were happy, the ghosts roamed the halls again.
Hermione remembered the times fondly. During the midst of the war, she hadn't even dared to dream that such a feeling could be possible. Such a feeling of peace. It made her proud of their efforts, proud that they had fought until the end. And now they reaped the rewards of their efforts. Even now, ten years later, she could still feel the warm feeling of content deep in her chest. Slowly, she moved closer to his body, pressing every inch of herself against the lines of his body.
He stirred at the contact and his dark grey eyes opened slowly. He looked down at her and a soft smile curved his lips. Sometimes she remembered the sneer on his lips when he had called her a mudblood. The memory always faded when she looked back at him though, at the gentle look in his eyes. He was not that boy, he had never been that boy. She knew that now.
"Good morning," he whispered, always so formal and polite. A reminder of his upbringing. She grinned at him.
"Good morning. Nice hair." She snorted as he attempted to soothe down the side of his hair that stuck up at odd angles. He gave up after a moment and huffed.
"It's alright, I like it." She kissed his cheek gently. He chuckled softly. His arms curled around her and he caught sight of the Dark Mark peaking out behind her. She caught him staring and he flushed lightly.
"You know it doesn't matter," she whispered against his chest. He tensed against her and huffed again.
"I'm serious, Draco. You were never that. And even more, you're so much more than that."
He had asked her once to contact Harry. See if his wand could remove the mark. There were no others means to remove the mark that he knew of, and he was desperate enough to ask Potter for help. Hermione had agreed. Harry had long known of their friendship and eventual relationship. He'd offered to try.
In the soft light of the their living room, Hermione and Draco sat in stiff silence. Rain tapped against the window panes and the wind howled outside the door.
They were both anxious, Draco tapping his foot while Hermione bit at her fingernails. Everyone has a nervous tell.
The knock at the door startled them both. Draco was the first to move. He crossed the small living room in a few large steps before he pulled the front door open to reveal a damp Harry James Potter. He'd grown taller since Malfoy had last seen him, his hair shaggy again and his glasses cracked. He sported a curved scar from under his ear across his neck. They nodded to each other respectfully before the slytherin stepped aside to invite the gyffindor in. Harry mumbled a 'thank you' before he stepped inside and pulled out his wand. A moment and a spell later and he was completely dry. He looked much happier now, his brow relaxed and an easy smile on his face. He and Hermione hugged tightly and she scolded him about his glasses even as she fixed them. Harry remembered the days on the train, laughing with each other.
The pleasant mood evaporated when Malfoy cleared his throat. Two of the trio turned to see him already rolling up his long white sleeve. Harry grimaced at the Dark Mark, feeling the phantom pain of stinging in his scar. The look darkened when he read the scars etched over the mark. Even in the midst of the war, he could hardly have considered doing such a thing.
Harry hadn't saved Draco on a whim and he hadn't risked his life telling Narcissa Malfoy that he was alive if he hadn't see Draco that day in the bathroom. At the bright red cuts circling his arms and the absolutely desperate look in his eyes. It took Harry time, but he recognized that look. He knew the feelings behind it. He remembered what it was like to be hurt by those meant to protect you. When she had told him that Draco and her were becoming friends, he had been strangely happy. Even with the bad blood and the war just over, Harry knew that Draco deserved a chance just as anyone else did. It would take time, but Harry would learn to forgive. Staring at the white scars, he wondered why others hadn't done the same.
Draco looked away unhappily, feeling naked in front of Potter. He almost snorted at the hilarity of it all. A dark, dark world it was.
They tried for hours, Harry trying a variety of spells and charms in attempt to destroy, or at the very least hide, the vacant eyes staring up at him. Nothing worked. Draco was panting in pain by the end of it, his brow wet with sweat and his eyes pinched closed. She begged them to stop and Harry agreed. Malfoy had growled under his breath but tugged his sleeve down nonetheless. He stalked out of the room and they both heard the door slam down the hall. Hermione apologized, Harry smiled gently and shook his head. They embraced a for a moment and he left.
Hermione found Draco in their bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her. His shoulder shook gently. She knew that he was crying. She sat beside him and he didn't push her away. She touched the mark, it was burning hot under her skin. She could feel the residue that Harry's magic left there, a little crackle in the air above his arm. He tried to pull away, she held his arm. He stopped fighting. She whispered about what she knew about him, what he had proved to her, how he made her hope. She talked about how proud she was of him. He coughed to hide sobs and a few of his tears landed on her hand. They sat for a long time before shedding their clothes and crawling into bed. They laid awake for hours, lazily drawing invisible patterns on each other until they fell asleep.
He no longer flinched when her fingertips brushed over the dark tattoo. He didn't pull away when she touched the smooth scars overlapping black ink. Sometimes he would stare at it and she could tell that he was there again. A tortured boy in that bathroom, unraveled to the ends and frayed beyond recognition. She always soothed her hands along his shoulders, feeling the tension melt away at her contact. He would smile at her and she would return it with a soft kiss.
They laid in the sunlight for hours before rising out of bed. They brushed their teeth side by side, pushing each other gently so that they could spit into the sink. She wiped tooth paste foam from his mouth and he kissed her forehead. When he walked back to their room to dress, she saw the dozens of scars along his legs. They each had their own stories, some she had never heard before. She didn't push for the information, waiting until he brought it up, until he was ready to talk to her. Sometimes it was hard to get him to open up, even now, so many years and so much growth later. But he always did, whispering to her quietly in the darkness of their room. They would lay together and trade horror stories before falling asleep at each other's side.
Personally, Hermione much preferred him like this. Naked except for boxers, standing in the warm sunlight of their room, looking over his shoulder at her. He's smiling. Despite the scars and how strange they looked on his skin, she loved him. Every single bit of him. Even the dark little places in his heart where he still hid away sometimes. No matter what, though, he always stepped out of those corners and into her embrace. He had told her once that she reminded him of the sun, warm and welcoming. Shining on everyone and everything. He compared himself to the moon, who shone brightly in the light of the sun. She had scoffed and kissed his cheek.
His smile grew as she stared at him, a smug curve of the lips. "Like what you see, Granger?" He teased gently, turning to show off his chest. He put and expectant hand on his hip. A light blush brightened his cheeks and she knew it was because of the scars. She grinned back playfully and rolled her eyes.
"In your dreams, Malfoy."
He chuckled and strode over to her. He gathered her close in her arms and kissed the top of her head. She held him just as tightly gently running her hands along the expanse of his back. He could feel the small bumps of her own scars, a gift from his aunt, where they curved against his back.
In the quiet of the early afternoon, warm and cocooned next to a man who made her happy and hopeful again, Hermione was once again proud. Proud of the work they had done, the sacrifices they had made, and the scars that they had both earned.