"What did you say?"

"Hermione…"

"Draco…what did you say?" she asked, in a perfect imitation of how he had used her name.

"I can't tell you. I've said too much already."

"You've told me almost nothing. What did you say?"

He sighed. "I saw you last night. You were walking towards the Black Lake. I saw you using your wand, or…it looked like your wand, but I couldn't tell. There was no trace of light from a spell. I…what were you doing?"

Hermione turned away, holding her sleeves down, like they were see-through. "So you were spying on me?"

"No. I just happened to see you walking,"

She sighed. "I couldn't sleep."

"So you went outside?"

"Kiss me," she said, her voice rising in panic.

"Hermione, stop avoiding this. You know, I probably wouldn't have been as suspicious if you hadn't tried changing the subject."

Hermione looked away, ashamed. He was so close to finding out her secret. Too close.

"Um, I have to go," she told him, picking her bag up off of the ground, making a break for it.

He pulled her back to him, and kissed her sweetly. "I need you to tell me. I'm not blind. I can see that whatever it is, it's killing you."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Hermione, look at me."

She looked up slowly, not meeting his eyes.

His eyes traveled down to her wrist, and the dark red scars scattered there. She gasped softly; he had already figured her out.

"You can't tell anyone."

Their eyes locked, his holding disappointment. "You can't heal them, can you?"

She sighed in defeat. "No, I've tried everything, and they won't go away."

"Why did you do this?" he asks, placing his hand on her wrist, and examining the scars carefully.

"I was called a Mudblood in my Second Year, perhaps you remember," she looked at him, a sarcastic smile gracing her lips. "I don't blame you," she added.

"I apologized a thousand times over. I gave you everything I could that night."

She smiled again-genuinely this time-"I love you. I hope you know that. Whatever you may have done back then…the war changed you, Draco."

"I love you too, but we're not finished talking about this," he told her, dropping her hand, and lacing her fingers through his.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing to me? You should be apologizing to yourself."

"I know."

She turned, wrapping her scarf more tightly around herself, as they began walking around the lake. "Can we just finish the conversation now? I don't want to come back to it later."

"I was hoping you would say that."

She laughed lightly, nudging him lightly on the shoulder.

"When did this start?"

"You already asked me that. It started when I was twelve, when you called me a Mudblood. I stopped for just over five years, having tired of trying to hide them until we were in Malfoy Manor, during the War, and Bellatrix carved Mudblood into my arm. I started doing it again because new scars would blend in with the scars she gave me."

"My dead aunt made you start cutting again?" He turned away, and cursed under his breath.

"Your family overall, hasn't had a positive influence on my life," she said softly.

"Except for one, of course," he replied, voice dripping with playful sarcasm, before returning to seriousness. "Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

"We need to talk."

"Oh, God. I don't like where this is going."

"You shouldn't be worried."

"And why should I not be worried, Mr. Malfoy? Nothing you're saying is leading me to believe that this will be a good conversation?"

"If you stopped talking for two seconds, you would already know what I wanted to talk about," he teased.

"If you insist."

"Well…we've been dating for a while now, and I think it's time for us to take this whole thing a step further. We've moved on from our past prejudices, we're already living together, and a week long trip to Hogwarts seemed lie the perfect time."

"Perfect time for what?"

"For this," he replied, nearly stumbling down to one knee in his excitement. "Hermione, will you marry me?"

"Are you honestly that worried that I'm going to say no?" she laughed.

"Well, I was hoping…"

"Yes," she said calmly, before throwing herself into his arms.

. . .

Three Years Later

"Can you believe I married the man that I physically hurt myself over?"

"No. I still can't. And I still can't believe I married the Gryffindor, bushy-haired know-it-all. Do you regret it?" he asked.

"Regret what? The cuts and scars?"

"No, but I guess I am curious."

"No, not really. All I see them as now are battle wounds."

He looked at her, thoroughly perplexed. "Battle wounds?"

"Wounds that only made me closer to you. Wounds that our love endured."

"God, that was sickeningly mushy."

"That was the point." She whispered, leaning in to kiss him again.

Fin

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