Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Spread eagle and back pressed to the cool hardwood floor, I am surrounded by empty rooms in an apartment. My face is numb and my left hand is curled, but slack around a bottle of wine. The sock on my right foot somehow slouched completely off and my wand is still tucked tightly into the waist of my skirt. I'm not sure how long I've been here, lying on the floor. My mind is exhausted from fending off the sharp thoughts that are wont to invade me. Memories that should run like movies, pass like photography stills, shots of damage. I manage to get the wine bottle to my lips only to determine that it's empty. It's always empty. I think about the blood spattered walls that have been shined until they hold nothing of the horror that happened within them. I am to set foot into the school where parts of me were destroyed tomorrow morning at promptly seven a.m. to teach the youth of tomorrow. The youth of tomorrow, I snicker darkly. My mind clicks, whirs, and switches to a more recent memory, one of Ron and I before everything went to shit. Tears well up and I want to smack myself for being such a girl. I rollover onto my stomach, pull my shirt over my head, and ball it up into a makeshift pillow under my head. I can only sleep on my stomach.
My head feels turned inside out as I attempt to stand up. I stumble into the shower and hurry to get out of the confined space. I cut myself shaving, a rivulet of blood running down my leg. The bright red is gory against the paper white of my skin. I throw on slacks and a shirt to wear under my robes and apparate with a crack. Hogwarts looms over me as I stand in Hogsmeade. I suppress the stream of images, the smells, the sounds. McGonagall is waiting for me, face tight lipped with a hint of a smile. She looks ancient, the last few years have aged us all. And when we walk through the front doors of the castle I feel it in my soul, it tugs at the already open wound within it. The stairs are not rounded with age, but sharp, angular and made of shiny new stone. Too quickly we are at the gargoyle and McGonagall pauses as if waiting for someone else to do it.
"Lemon Drop." She says in an almost whisper. We are all waiting.
As I walk towards the two chairs in front of the headmaster's desk, I realize one is already occupied. There is no one else living in this world with hair the color of moonstone, skin almost as pale and eyes made of razor blades. And I am lost. I am lost in a sea of bewilderment, disgust, and cold anger. My skin itches to attack him. It would be so easy to kill him. To watch the life drain from him in just a second. War has turned my thoughts savage and for a moment he looks scared, like he can read them. But I manage to sit stiffly in the open seat.
"Professors, you will be working closely together. We must prevent what has been allowed to go on for too long. The segregation of houses, instead of unity, has lead to the deaths of many. And whether or not you agree with my philosophy is of no relevance. While working at Hogwarts the main goal for this school will be unity. As the head of the houses that hold the most resentment towards one another I expect you to be nothing less than shining examples of civility. Is that clear?" Her tone is clipped, demanding, belief driven.
"Yes." I say evenly as the man beside me nods. She goes on for almost an hour but I can't pay attention. Not when all the hairs on my body are raised. How to contain myself? When every part of my body is screaming? At our dismissal I am up and moving quickly towards my new office.
"Granger," It is no more than a murmur but in the silence it feels like a bullet. "wait, please." I turn to face him. His face is gaunt, sickly and I take a pleasure in it that I shouldn't.
"Out with it." I grunt.
"I really need to make this work ok? I will do whatever it takes. You don't have to love me, like me, respect me, you just have to tolerate me." And with this anger is replaced by curiosity. I nod and decide to make a detour before I get to my office. I slide outside and onto a bench on one of the greens. The air is crisp with fall and my fingers are twitching and my body is calling. My cold hands fumble with the package as I tap out a cigarette. I flick the lighter and the heat is instantaneous, delicious as I suck it in. The smoking is recent, it calms me the repetitive motion, the flick and heat of the lighter, and the mindlessness of it. I smoke three of them before I can make myself go back inside and face it, but I have to. I need to.
"Hello Class, I am Professor Granger and I will be your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year. You are the first generation of students at this renovated institution and the first in this era of peace. But even in light there still remains darkness, shadows. And so I must teach you how to defend against the dark, to protect yourself from the dangers that may still lurk there. I am a big advocate of hands on learning as well as knowledge of the mechanics. Before every class I expect you to have read the chapter on which spell or spells we will be working on for that lesson. There will be a short two question quiz at the beginning of each block. Is this understood?"
And after that it is almost easy. I paste a smile on my face, I make conversation. But as the sun disappears and the sky turns velvet I am ready to leave. On my way out of the castle I bump into him. He flinches away and he doesn't look angry, scared, intimidated…just tired.
"I apologize Granger." He looks directly in my eyes and apologizes, but his lips hold the hint of a smirk. This is a piece of him I've been searching for. It is evidence that we haven't lost everything. Not yet. I find that we begin walking side by side in silence. But there are parts of me that wish to break it, the silence that locks us. And I am so tired of walking into an empty home.
"Malfoy." I nod, and apparate. The walls are the color of parchment, the floors of chocolate. The only thing I've managed is an old fridge and that took me weeks to buy. As I uncork a bottle of wine, a crack sends it to the floor in a smash of glass. The wine spreads like blood across the floor and I feel weak.
"Fuck." And I see him, I see his flesh torn open, vessels and muscle exposed, and blood gushing, pouring. The screaming reverberates in my mind. I slam my hands over my ears trying to shut it out. But all I can hear is
"GRANGER." And I turn to see Malfoy standing in my makeshift kitchen. I want to shake him until his teeth rattle.
"What are you doing here?" I scream, heart pounding.
"I don't know ok. I just…I just came over." With a flick of my wand I clean up the mess of glass and wine. His face has a five o'clock shadow and his hair is skewed. His hands are shaking. He takes a finger and traces a faint scar above my lip. Cobalt eyes scorch me as his hips press against mine he attacks my mouth. It's brutish and I'm sure my lips will be swollen. He feels so good. My back slams against the beige walls I've hated every night. "Hermione." And like a shot I'm off, body as close to the opposite wall as possible. I slide down the wall, head in my hands.
"What the fuck?" I scream. How did I get here? Three weeks ago I contemplated murdering him. I was one minute away from fucking him against that wall. That wall that I've hated every night. And so I am reaching for the pack on the counter. I barely get the cigarette lit before he's in my face and throwing it into the sink.
"You're not going to smell like a low class merchant and waste the life you've managed to keep." And I am beating him. I am screaming and the tears are falling. I am wrecked. Arms wrapped tightly around my body make me squirm.
"Let me go." I screech, terrified. He let's go as if I've burned him, eyes wide. I am panting, chest heaving. All I can do is drop to the floor and spread my limbs to form the eagle I've made myself into every night since I lost him. I close my eyes and imagine that I am a starfish. I hear the rustle of clothing and turn my head to the side and peak with one eye. He is there beside me, stretched out, eyes closed. I crawl on top of him tears dotting his shirt and skin. I kiss his cheeks, his eyes, his forehead, and his lips; his skin left salty by my tears.
"Be my friend." I whisper. He wraps his arms loosely around me and presses a kiss to my temple.
"Ok. Ok Granger." And I drift into a sleep that has eluded me for six months and fourteen days.