Being Afraid
Rating: M
AN: While watching an episode of Bleach (an anime) I was inspired to write this. How it goes as well as I plan.
UPDATE: I haven revised this chapter and I will continue to revise the following chapters before I post a new chapter to the story. Now that I am coming back to this work, I feel like there are some things that could use changing. I will mainly be adding more depth to some of my old writing—but a particular section of this chapter needed heavy revision. I will go into more detail about this at the end of the chapter. Enjoy! Please let me know what you think. My reviews make my day brighter!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters.
AN: So what do you think? This isn't my first fan fiction but it is my first Draco/Hermione one. This is an angst fan fiction so there will be quite a bit of it (just a warning) and possible lemons in the future. A while into the future though. The only way you can do Draco and Hermione is to go slow at it. Draco's point of view coming up next (yay!) Not sure when I will get it posted but I will try my best to do it quick.
Chapter 1: Hurt
Chapter Text
It is commonplace wisdom that, in your last moments your life flashes before your eyes. She had always assumed that these would be your best memories—Harry winning the Quidditch Cup. Ron saying her name in the Hospital Wing. Her mother and father giving her the first book she ever owned for her third birthday. Her trip to France. Her first kiss with Krum.
She never imagined it would be a solitary moment. It wouldn't have occurred to her that it would be Neville Longbottom's face.
Neville's face was long, his thin lips curving upward into a forced smile. Tears spilled out of his large, round eyes and dripped into his open palm. In his fingers he rolled around the gum wrapper. Pink in color, it looked strangely like a muggle Double Bubble Gum wrapper. "Thanks Mum." Neville's mother hardly registered his response. For all the reaction she gave him, you could assume Neville was merely a caretaker employed by Saint Mungo's. She looked through her son with a glazed expression, as if he was glass. Neville gazed down at the wrapper, rolling it around in his hand before he pocketed it. You would have thought it was a galleon, the care he took with that wrapper.
That moment had touched a part of her that she didn't realize existed. How could you be driven so mad that you forget your son's face? That you stare at him as if he was empty space? Until that point, Hermione never understood the effects of war. She was well read on the subject, sure. But she had only experienced the real horror of war second hand. Harry had been the one to see Cedric die, not her. He had witnessed the rise of Voldemort. He had faced danger time after time. Yes, she played her part. But until she saw Alice Longbottom tilt her head and hand her son a wrapper much like you would a stranger, she didn't understand it at all.
Hermione's head lulled, her eyes following the stream of her ruby red blood against the black and white marbled floor of the Malfoy Manor. It was as if the entire world was dulled around her. Bellatrix Lestrange's high pitched tone was so low it was if she was muffled. She could never tell what was coming next: A long, deep cut with her enchanted blade or another round of the Cruciatus Curse. Her own scream rang in her ears like a high pitched ring. She felt out of body, only she felt every ounce of pain. Curse after curse flew at her, making her feel like nothing more than a pile of rags; a pile of rags that could only feel the indescribable pain that radiated on every inch of her body. Even her finger nails throbbed from the inescapable torture. Her wand had been taken from her; scattered half way across the room; she wasn't able to lift her head to meet her captor's eyes let alone summon enough energy to grasp her wand for salvation. She would die here, her only friend her own reflection that bounced off the Malfoy Manor marble floor.
If she by a miracle lived she would be horribly scared. She doubted it though; her wrists would bleed out long before she could even make it out the dining room doors. She didn't have to look to know what Bellatrix scrawled on them: Mudblood. Whore. Much like in the book the Scarlet Letter, she had been branded for what society thought she was.
"Answer me!" Bellatrix yelled in frustration, throwing a dagger deep into her hand. It penetrated through it clean, pinning her hand to the ground. She was utterly and completely trapped like a rapid dog. Unable to move, this was not how she pictured dying. She wanted to die with dignity.
"Mudblood bitch! You think you can just lay there and not answer me! Where did you get the SWORD!" Bellatrix took a pause, taking her foot and swiftly kicking her in her ribs.
All she could do was scream when she felt her ribs crack. With her sharp breath she was covered in spasms of pain. Tears leaked out of her eyes. Barely able to form coherent thoughts, Hermione attempted to speak, only letting out a string of inaudible words.
"What is that Mudblood? Ready to talk then?"
Hermione looked into the floor again peering at the stranger looking back at her. This person was weak, begging to slip in the oblivion of death. This was not her. She turned her eyes away from her reflection with bitter resentment, resting on the blurred people in front of her. Four people stood in the room. Bellatrix looming above her, a mad, rageful glee covering her face; Lucius and Narcissia hand in hand, hard as stone near the back of the room; Draco Malfoy stood just behind Bellatrix and even through the blood loss she could see his face had turned pale, almost ghostlike, his eyes filled with revulsion.
"Like what you see?" Hermione croaked out, "The mudblood at your feet."
"Draco," Bellatrix laughed, "The whore is taunting you. Put her in her place."
Hermione watched, falling in and out of hazy unconsciousness as he looked back at his parents in horror, shifting his feet. He didn't want to. Hermione could see that he could feel this was all just to wrong. He gripped his wand swallowing hard.
"Come nephew," Bellatrix cooed placing her hand on Malfoy's neck petting his hair, "Do as the Dark Lord wishes. I would advise against failing him again. He has been gracious to you."
Their eyes connected for a moment, and through the tears she could see he didn't want this. "Please," She mouthed, losing her ability to speak. "Draco. Please."
For a brief moment, honey brown met silver in clear desperation. Both too young to play their parts, but forced to take the stage anyway. His gaze pierced her with abject terror; as if she was the audience, his superiors the directors and he, stricken with stage fright, had suddenly forgotten his lines.
It was slow motion. A pause, an exhale of breath from thin lips pulled over a gaunt, pale face. The sudden rush of air blew upward, making platinum blonde hair fly as if they were caught in a breeze. As his neck craned behind him, she lost track of his eyes—of the face of hesitation. His head nodded, sharp and quick at his parents behind him. Hermione let her eyes slide close—darkness encasing her, waiting for words clear enough to shatter glass.
"Crucio!"
Is this what it meant to be a hero?
She heard the scream before the pain registered—her own shrill voice bouncing off the tall vaulted ceilings. Gut wrenching sobs that didn't feel like her own. It was only when she felt a large, slender hand slide through her matted locks that she realized the pain was gone, but she couldn't stop screaming. Draco balled his fist up in her hair and wrenching her forward, the palm of her hand ripping from the ground and thudding against the hit of the blade in a sickening sound that resembled the tearing of cloth. Her eyes snapped open and met Malfoy nose to nose, his eyes steeled with determination
"Just bloody do it Granger. Answer her. The time for nobility, has tragically come to an end," He whispered, each word punctuated with a pleading emphasis.
"Hermione!"
Malfoy had let go of her hair, thrown back to the ground. Hermione could hear a wand scattering in the distance. Her head cracked against the floor. Half naked, no longer able to truly see all she could make out was a dash of red in front of her. Someone, more of a blur really, stood in front of her screaming words that bled together so she couldn't understand them. She could only make out a muffled thud thud thud against the floor.
She began to float then. Warm arms wrapped around her blood soaked body. Her arm dangled below her, limp as a rag doll, drawn by gravity and hurried footsteps. She closed her eyes and let herself slip out of conscious thought—the motion and blurred colors making her sick.
"Hold on Mione. God hold on. "
It was the last words that were clear before she collapsed.
It was three weeks before she could really hold unto a conscious state. She would swim back and forth, from the burning lights above her to nothingness. She didn't even dream. She suspected she was being fed an array of different pain tonics and dreamless sleep potions to keep her in a state of comfortable sleep. But Hermione wasn't comfortable. Each time she woke up, fighting herself out of the fog she would get blasted with visions of the manor.
It was all that she could do was scream. Bellatrix ripping into her flesh with her blade. Her friends hovering around her reduced to blurs that whispered incoherent sentences. Sometimes she would capture her name but nothing more.
One morning as she struggled awake she heard one word pitiful.
Hermione's eyes lifted open slowly. It was a struggle for her, as if boulders were holding them down. Her vision was blurred like always but as she managed to blink it cleared for the first time since the manor. She could see them rushing about and their forms made her sick. Groaning she closed her eyes again trying to move her arms. But she couldn't lift them.
"Harry," she croaked, "Ron."
It sounded like her vocal cords had been ripped out and replaced with a voice box. The only reason she could tell the difference was the indescribable pain that crept over her as she tried to even talk. Her mouth was wrenched open, her head tilted to keep her from strangling. By the taste of the tonic being fed to her it was the same mixture of pain tonics as before.
"Another one. The other one!" Someone else bit.
All she could here was a shuffle of feet around her, someone trying to take orders as quickly as possible.
"Hermione," Someone whispered, "Hermione if you can understand me just blink. Just blink once okay."
The hand began to smooth her hair as she lifted her eye lids again and blinked.
"Thank Merlin," someone breathed out. She could faintly recognize the voice and as the pain tonic set in she realized it was Harry.
"Harry?" she whispered.
"Yes Mione," he half sobbed, " It's me. I'm right here."
Someone opened her mouth again, pouring down a thicker liquid this time, something they haven't given her yet the best she could recall. She waited a moment as a calming sensation began to spread all over her. She sighed— some sort of calming tonic for her nerves. She lifted her eyes again after letting both potions set in and was greeted by a beautiful sight.
Ron and Harry both hovered over her, their eyes red and cheeks stained with tears. They both sobbed, clutching the side of her bed. Harry let his head hang for a moment muttering something so low she couldn't comprehend. Both of them took one of her hands, taking their thumbs and rubbing them in soothing circular motions. She could feel their thumbs on most surfaces of her hands. She sighed in relief so she could still feel.
"What," she whispered breathlessly, "What happened?"
Harry and Ron shared a glance for a moment. Hermione got frustrated with the two of them but remained still as she could barely lift her eyelids. They both slowly nodded, sitting down on her bed carefully to not touch her in fear of hurting her. "What do you remember Mione?"
What did she remember?
Pain. Pain like she couldn't describe with words. Pain that couldn't be explained in books or lessons. Slick with her own blood. Her own screams ringing endlessly in her ears. Pathetic babbling for mercy. Blonde hair and piercing gray eyes. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood whore.
Hermione felt her heart beat quicken and her chest began to ache with piercing pain. She heaved breathes but couldn't get enough air. The world tilted on its axis – blurs of colors and voices in slow motion. She weazed, shaking hands balling up in her hair and ripping it out by the root.
"Hermione stay with us please!" Ron begged.
A pause, an exhale of breath from thin lips pulled over a gaunt, pale face. The sudden rush of air blew upward, making platinum blonde hair fly as if they were caught in a breeze. As his neck craned behind him, she lost track of his eyes—of the face of hesitation. His head nodded, sharp and quick at his parents behind him. Hermione let her eyes slide close—darkness encasing her, waiting for words clear enough to shatter glass.
"Crucio!"
Is this what it meant to be a hero?
"It okay Mione! You're not back there you're safe!"
"The blood," she gasped, "So much blood!"
The doors flew open and she was lost in a sea of terror unable to fight her way out. She felt the bed underneath her. She registered Ron and Harry's hands, prying her fists out of her own hair. She heard the rushed footsteps of nurses. But none of it felt real through the haze of panic.
"What is that Mudblood? Ready to talk then?"
Hermione looked into the floor again peering at the stranger looking back at her. This person was weak, begging to slip in the oblivion of death. This was not her.
"Draco! Please!"
She heard the words exit her lips but all she could see was him kneeling in front of her again. The walls of the room around her melted back to the dining room of the manor, shining in gems, gold, marble and blood.
Bellatrix Lestrange's high pitched tone was so low it was if she was muffled. She could never tell what was coming next: A long, deep cut with her enchanted blade or another round of the Cruciatus Curse. Her own scream rang in her ears like a high pitched ring.
'"Put her back to sleep!"
She felt several hands holding her down all at once opening her mouth again and she tried to fight against them. She was back there in her mind. They were holding her down; getting ready to take her; rape her.
"No," no she sobbed, "Please stop."
They forced her mouth open and a cold liquid filled her mouth. She was forced to swallow. It was only seconds before she slipped back into nothingness.
The next time her eyes open it was much easier than the last. Her vision danced for a shorter amount of time and she was able move her fingers on her own again. When she was able to see straight again, Harry and Ron were sitting in the same places as they were before, deep in sleep. The moon light spilled into the unfamiliar room but she realized with a jolt that she was safe. She closed her eyes slowing her breathing.
"I am not at the manor," she mumbled sensibly, "I am safe with the Order."
She opened her eyes again and looked at her friends with a clear mind. They were both exhausted. Even though they appeared clean and their cuts were healing, their skin was still covered in faint bruises from the battle. That they were clean was the most she could say about her friends; haphazard, it looked as if they barely took time to get properly changed before they ran to her side, let alone enough time to eat. Ron had fallen asleep on a tray of food in front of him and a bit of mashed potatoes covered his nose.
"Ron," she said as clearly as possible, "Ron get out of your food."
Ron sat up with a jolt, nearly falling out of his hair. When he looked at her she could see a wave of relief wash over him and a smile split his face. "Merlin Harry! Wake up!" He said has he wiped the cold food off his face. "She's awake!"
Harry jumped to his feet to her side looking at her with excitement and caution. Did she look that bad? She faintly remembered her spells from the times she woke up before. They must be relieved she hadn't gone mad again. She was surprised herself to be perfectly honest.
"Mione are you," Harry paused taking her hand in his, "Okay?"
Was she okay? Hermione knew that she wasn't. Not only was her physical pain unbearable but the mental pain she dealt with drove her mad. It was surprising she hadn't lapsed again but she tried to take it for a miracle. She wasn't foolish enough to think it wouldn't happen again, but she did know that she was thankful for these few moments of clarity.
"No," she admitted, "Not really. But I'm not screaming yet."
"Well it's a start," Ron whispered.
"Get the healers Ron," Harry said, "They will need to see her."
As Ron rushed from the room Hermione looked back at Harry trying to ignore the pain. "How long have I been out?"
Harry ran his hands through his hair sighing before he answered her, "A month."
Hermione sucked in a breath, "Harry," she said in disbelief, "A month? What's happened?"
"Well Hermione, the last time we started this conversation," He gulped, "You freaked. I don't want to do that to you again."
"It's okay Harry," she reassured him shifting herself, "I think I can handle it now."
Harry looked at her skeptically. She could tell he didn't approve of the idea but she needed to know. "Harry," she pleaded, "I should be dead Harry. Please tell me."
"Alright," he started, "We had been stuck down there bloody fucking ever. Felt like ages just listening—listening to you scream. Nothing we could do. It was just by chance that we escaped. Dobby was there and helped us get out of that damn room. It was all we could do to run to get to you but the Death Eaters were everywhere. We had to curse a few along the way. I'm-" Harry stopped, like his throat was closing up, "I'm sure I killed a few. By the time we made it in there you were on the damn ground. Ron was so furious. Merlin I had never seen him that angry before. He launched Malfoy across the room and I grabbed his wand. We did the best we could to get you back to Dobby to get you out of there. Ron carried you across the room in his arms while dueling until we finally got to out."
"Then we made it out?" she asked, "Everyone is okay?"
She saw apprehension in his eyes before he nodded, "Yeah. We are all okay."
"Your lying Harry!" she hissed.
"Hermione—"
"Don't lie to me! I nearly died for you two! To think of all the time I have been by your side and you lie!"
She began to shake again; she could feel her legs quivering and her teeth began to chatter together. Harry reached trying to sooth her again. "Look what is important right now for you is that everyone here—Ron, me and you, Luna, Dean—we all got out alive okay? Just focus on that. We are all alive."
"Well then what happened Harry?" She chattered.
"I will tell you when you're ready okay?"
Hermione nodded, their moment interrupted as the doors flew open. The healers ran into the infirmary surrounded her. Spells casted over her, her body examined by multiple people and more potions shoved down her throat.
At least this time she could open her mouth and drink them herself to some degree.
The next few weeks were really a blur to her. Blending together with the monotony of the same routine. For the most part she was able to remain stable with a minimum of what she assumed were panic attacks. It had sunk in that she had what muggles called PTSD. With no surprise, the healers had no cure for it and knew little about the functions of the brain. They only suggested for her to keep a steady supply of calming tonics around at all times to ward off the worst of the attacks. They had been slowly feeding her the tonics since her worst attacks. It explained to her why she was able to stay awake and hold her mind together. The healers had been convinced that the trauma she had suffered would be impossible to recover from—calming tonic or no—and they all had been pleasantly surprised with her progress.
After two months in the infirmary Hermione was beginning to get irritable and restless. They wouldn't allow her to read any books or see many people. The first time Ginny had visited her she had dissolved into tears at the very sight of Hermione and had to be dragged out by Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom. After that, they kept restrictions on visitors for Hermione. In other words, only Harry and Ron could visit and only them simply because they refused to leave her accept for important Order business. She had gathered after a long while that they were at the new Order headquarters. Ron had reluctantly give in to her wishes and told her that the Order had regrouped and was meeting back at the Longbottom manor. Apparently with the increase in violence against blood traitors, the Longbottom family had fled, leaving only Neville behind simply because he refused to leave the war effort. Surpsingly enough she was told that the Longbottom home was quiet large—large enough to hold an infirmary and comfortably hold the members of the Order. It was secluded she was told, miles away from any locals and warded by several of the staff from Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick had warded the house themselves and left McGonagall as the secret keeper. She had been told that only a select few upper members of the order had been given the exact location of the base, one naturally being Neville. These members would lead missions and apparate those members who were not given the location. It was a safety measure she understood; not only being careful about traitors in the ranks, but in case any of them are taken.
Hermione swirled her spoon in the tomato soup in front of her. She had now gotten back to normal sleeping patterns and her wounds were healing up nicely. She was nearly back to normal and all she wanted was to be out of the infirmary. Out of these white washed walls and white tile floors. Away from the closed curtains and rows of beds and in her own quarters making a difference. She knew she couldn't go on a mission—not yet—but she could at least do something. Laying and doing nothing lead her mind to drift to other thoughts, thoughts that inevitably led back to the manor.
She closed her eyes and tears flowed freely down her face. She wanted to forget and to oblivitate it all but she knew she couldn't. Harry and Ron didn't understand why but she didn't feel right about doing that. It would be hiding away from it and Hermione was not a coward. She didn't want the memories to control her. It would hurt every day; every moment something would remind her of what happened to her it was inevitable. The memories would leave deep scars and she might have to take calming potions for the rest of her life but she hoped not. She hoped one day she could triumph over it.
"To bloody brave," Ron had muttered.
Hermione chuckled to herself thinking back. Perhaps she was but they all had their own scars from the war. How fair would it be for her to just get rid of hers without any real effort to live with them? Her experience had changed her. Whether for the good or bad she didn't know but she knew for certain that what had changed had taught her the darker side of things. Something that she couldn't be blind to anymore.
After nearly two and a half months laying in the infirmary the healers cleared her to leave. She was not allowed to go on any missions but could help out with research and around the manor. They told her if she progressed enough she might be able to assist in training with some time, but to take it slow. She knew what they were all trying to say: don't have another breakdown.
Hermione had slipped out of the bed, Ron and Harry on both sides. "I can walk on my own," she growled frustrated.
"And I am sure you can," Harry said, "We just want to make sure okay?"
Hermione muttered underneath her breath in frustration. She could handle this without being coddled. She had been coddled for two months now. She just wanted to get back to the war effort and keep her mind busy. The boys led her up to the double doors. They were both okay and slid her fingers against the wood. She stopped looking over at the boys. She was suddenly afraid. Afraid of walking out the doors back into the light. She hadn't seen anyone but the boys and healers for months now. Everyone else would treat her differently, dance around her now. No use in pretending it wouldn't happen.
"Guys what do I do?" she asked, eyes wide.
"Mione you just go on okay? We will be with you. Just do the best you can okay?"
Hermione took a deep breath before pushing the door wide open.
Update: I originally had Bellatrix order Malfoy to sexually assault Hermione. While I think it would have a greater effect on the audience, it is unlikely, given her blood status, that Bellatrix would suggest that as torture.