House: Slytherin

Category: Drabble

Prompts:" What would it take to make you listen to me" (Speech)

Characters: Draco Malfoy; Hermione Granger

World: AU (Alternative Universe)

Word count: 900 (Excluding Author's Note, but including entire Short Story and Title)

Summary: Under the cloak of her fragile mind, the terrors that Hermione Granger faced during the war is better left concealed behind a gray mask and hidden from the world until such a cause to be set free is summoned.

Rating: T

Author's Note: This work is a bit too personal to share, but once I started writing it, I couldn't stop… I was torn between prompt #1("What would it take to make you listen to me?") and prompt #3 (Vowing to stop doing something) It's obvious which prompt I went with, and seeing as Hermione never "vows" to stop doing it, she did promise that she'd seek help, which eventually would lead to her full recovery. This is a sensitive subject for anyone who suffers from eating disorders, and it was never my intention to "trigger" anyone. So, please, read at your own risk!

As always, enjoy

-Carolare Scarletus

Giving into the Moment

Hermione Granger was a complete mess. Bottles of potions lay scattered around her as she clawed her way toward the toilet. There, she threw up for the third time in twenty minutes, expelling the copious amount of sweets she had consumed just in the last hour. It was another one of her binge/eating tantrums. It was a cycle, no matter what she did, she couldn't break. Now, as she stood from the basin and inched her way in front of the mirror, she looked at her emaciated body. Her skin was translucent and there were heavy bags underneath her eyes. Her arms were extremely thin, as where her legs and her stomach looked like it was caving in on itself. She looked more like a little girl than the twenty-something that she was. Hermione stood there and cried as she pondered what caused this self-destruction in the first place.

The war.

It had been the war.

A cry caught in her throat as her voice hitched.

The voices in the back of her mind were screaming again. This addiction to thinness and the horrors of the war was the worst disease that anyone could suffer. Even for her, it was debilitating.

She needed help.

Hermione looked up to find an unexpectedly figure standing just outside the bathroom door. Shamefully, she tucked a strand of wispy hair behind her ear and looked the other way.

"I thought you promise you'd stop doing this, Hermione." Draco said, looking more worried than angry. He was leaning up against the crunch that he so despised. Just as she was, he had been scarred by the war, having sustained several lashes against his torso. He had lost his left leg and good portion of his right arm. He was a monster, but why did he look so angelic?

"Yeah, well…" she began then stopped herself. What other excuse did she have? She wasn't the strong girl that he used to know. She was weak and helpless. She was nothing like him. He made it look so easy. "Anyway, it's over now. You can go back to bed."

"You are so much more than this, you know."

A heart-clenching ache propelled her self-loathing shell to crack. Looking at him through the mirror, Hermione wiped away her tears a slide down to the floor. Eventually, he joined her. Draco slide into his space neatly before tugging her to his side. His fingers danced across her healing wrists as his eyes took in the depth of her pain. This was an arrangement they had made years ago. It felt natural to be in this spot night after night, but Hermione knew he hated nights like these- where he'd watch her waste away little by little. Soon, she supposed, there would be nothing left. Until then, she still had something to give. After several minutes of silence, he spoke again.

"What would it take to make you listen to me?" he said, his voice cracking.

Hermione didn't look at him. Instead, she drew her legs up to her chest and cried even harder.

"I don't know," she finally said. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her even when her own shame shielded her from the world.

"You can't keep on doing this."

"I know I can't…"

"Then, why do you do it?"

Hemione squeezed her arms around her legs and whispered," It hurts! The memories, the scars. Everything just hurts. I'm so tired of it, Draco."

"Are you willing to find help?"

Without realizing it, Hermione agreed. She had exhausted all her options, and the only thing left was to seek treatment for this negative solution to her problems.

Draco slung his good arm around her and sighed. "It's going to be alright." He told her. "No matter what, I'll always be here to help you. Even if you don't want it, I'll be here every step of the way."

"I'm so scared…" she whispered, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. "What if… what if I'm not strong enough to-"

"Hermione Jean Malfoy," he chuckled, combing her hair with his fingers before patting her on the back soothingly," you are the bravest woman I know. We managed a secret affair in school, managed to survive a merciless war, and went against my father when I proposed to you… don't you think that warrants medal?"

When she didn't say anything, Draco hummed at her unsaid submission.

"Everything is going to be fine," he told her. "Everyone has their days, and they have their demons, too."

"Do you still…?"

"Every night," he told her softly. "The only difference is I got help for my night terrors. You haven't. Until you do, you'll keep reverting to it because it's a sense of comfort to you. But, let me tell you something, Hermione. I want to be that comfort."

Draco used the hand on his injured arm to tilt her head up towards his as he continued. "I want to be your hero. I want you to turn to me in your time of need, and not toward the thing that's hurting you the most. I'm always going to be here for you. The war is over, love. We're free to do whatever we damn well please and that includes living our lives and remembering those we lost without destroying ourselves."