TRIGGER WARNINGS OF SEMI-SELFHARM AND DEPRESSION

He tugged slightly on the ropes holding his hands above his head, checking them they were secure. He knew they would be, they were every damn time, but it was a reflex. He was glad she had stepped out of the room before he checked though, she hated it when he did it.

He wasn't sure why he'd come back this time. No, he knew why he'd come back. It was for the same reason he always went. He knew the Horcrux had been lying but it still whispered in his dreams sometimes. He'd gone with Hermione to see some Muggle Healer for the mind and carefully edited the story to avoid magic and she prescribed him tablets that helped sometimes. But then it got bad and he needed something else that was more physical. It wasn't an affair, not really. He had no feelings for her beyond gratitude. He wouldn't call them friends even.

That's why it was so weird seeing her in his house. How long had she been speaking to his wife? They were working on some project together for a charity he had never heard of before and his breath came faster. There was subtext he couldn't quite read in their glances and she left soon after, promising to write to Hermione soon so they could keep discussing it. She glanced at him as she walked past, worry clear in her eyes and he could have sworn he saw the same expression in Hermione's eyes before she smiled and asked how work had been.

That had been nearly 2 months ago and he had been avoiding her ever since. The dreams had been bad for weeks as he tried to deal with them himself. He was days away from his anniversary with Hermione and he knew he needed a clear head for it. When he finally got the courage to owl her, she replied instantly, saying she had the afternoon free if he could come now. He left instantly, and now here he was. In the usual position, tension starting to leave already.

She came back into the room, knife in hand. He kept his eyes on it, not her. They never spoke beyond her making sure he was okay. He didn't want her reassurances that he was more than the sidekick, that Hermione loved him more than Harry, that he is good enough, it wasn't why he came here. He could get all that at home if he thought it would work.

He met her eyes when she stopped in front of him. He always forgot she was nearly as tall as him, her back straight. There was something different in her eyes this time, more pity than before but he felt cold steel on his skin and gasped as his abs instinctively contracted away from it. He kept watching her watching him. He could feel sanity returning, the demons retracting for another while as he became less aware of his thoughts. She never cut him, that wasn't part of it, it was the sensation of cold.

As if on schedule, his eyes slipped closed after a few moments and he didn't see the other woman in the doorway. He didn't see his wife watch him getting dragged away from his demons in an almost violent way. He didn't see the tears fill his eyes as she realised how much deeper the scars from the war were than she'd thought. He didn't see her have to leave the room, the building, have to go and see his sister and sob into her arms. He only smelt the faint trace of her perfume as the front door created a breeze but he assumed it was memory only.

He sighed when she stopped. She untied him and his arms relaxed as the blood flowed back into them. He rubbed his wrists and smiled at her. She returned it slightly.

"Thank you, Parkinson."

"Anytime, Weasley Don't leave it so long next time maybe." She left the room, grinning slightly over her shoulder.

He never told his wife. He ignored that she always seemed to know when he needed to go. He ignored that Pansy and Hermione became closer and closer until they were best friends. He ignored that he could always feel eyes watching him and Pansy and that Hermione was more affectionate the same evening. It was easier ignoring it, like he tried to ignore the thoughts. Pay attention and they could shatter you.