Fear of the Thing Itself

Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy

Prompt 01: Hermione hates returning to Malfoy Manor.

Word count: 590

Harry Potter and the associated characters and world are © J.K. Rowling


The manor house was as huge as she remembered, pristine and elegant and haunting. It was as though the building managed to hold itself separate from its' neighbours, the very exterior emanating cold hostility.

Screams permeated her thoughts and Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, cleared her throat to cover the single whimper that she failed to suppress. Her throat was dry, her head was pounding, and she could feel the ghost of agony from the filthy word carved into her skin. Though her sleeves covered the scar, she felt as though the people around and far from her were staring, fixing an accusing gaze on her. Part of her felt that she didn't deserve to gaze upon the exterior of the majestic house.

Her self-esteem finally contributed its' two cents, an arrogant peep, declaring that the house didn't deserve to have her brown-eyed gaze upon it. She smiled faintly, recognising the voice that her confidence took. Now filled with a protective warmth, Hermione stepped forward and felt the coolness of the protective wards slip over and around her, encasing her in a sensation not unlike that of submerging oneself in a barrel of eye of newt.

The sensation passed and suddenly she was inside, her spine tingling. She passed gradually through the extravagant gardens, it taking what felt like hours to reach the front door.

She knocked.

The boom echoed through the house and, in an instant, a shrivelled house elf answered the door. Blinking sagely up at her, it took her to a seat, listened to her irequest, and vanished with an alarming crack.

Left alone in the hall she remembered, it didn't matter that this time it was bright and clean. In her mind, darkness and filth encroached, tainting her experience of the grandiose shelter. The tingling obscured her awareness, but she gradually began to shiver.

By the time the person she'd intended to see appeared at the top of the sweeping staircase, her teeth were chattering in her mouth as violently as if some fiend had jinxed her. Horrified, he called her name. "What are you doing here!"

"H-had to see you," she murmured, refusing to trip over her words. "A-apologise." She looked up at him, her bright eyes seeming too wide in her pale face.

He frowned in concern and practically tripped down the stairs in his uncharacteristically graceless rush to reach her. Once at her side, he bit his lip and knelt before her, taking both of her hands in his, rubbing small circles over her skin. "You shouldn't have. Hermione, I know how much you hate it here."

She shook her head violently, her teeth chattering even more as she did so, then cleared her throat in an attempt to allow herself to speak in a normal tone. "I do not."

"You do," he said, his tone full of pity. She hated it.

"I hate the bad memories," she snapped, her tone not allowing for a whimper.

"There aren't any good ones."

"There's you," she said, grimacing still, but her brown eyes honest on his silver orbs.

"Hermione…"

"Draco, I'm sorry, alright?"

He blinked. "What?"

"I'm sorry for yelling at you in that restaurant. It was stupid and petty and childish, and – and I'm sorry." Her confidence was almost gone again, and she knew it. She was distracted, though, by the hug he pulled her into, pressing a kiss to each of her cheeks and then to her forehead.

"Me, too," Draco Malfoy told Hermione, and in that moment, all was well.