Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. Various disorders are mentioned though not by name, among them: PTSD and OCD.

Hermione Granger fought back a flinch when the scalding water splashed her fingers. Instead, she reached for a hard bristled brush and scrubbed at her fingers and nails to remove any and all foreign objects that might be attached. She hummed a nursery rhyme slightly off tune as she scrubbed, something her parents taught her as a child to be sure she adequately washed her hands.

"It followed her to school one day, school one day, school one -"

She jumped as a hand settled at her lower back gently. The brush clattered into the sink and splashed her blue blouse with tiny droplets of water. If she wasn't so startled, she'd be annoyed at the ruined silk.

"Granger. I think you're clean now. You've hummed the rhyme 11 times. I thought you said it only needed to be said once?"

A large hand pulled the brush out of the sink and set it softly in its place next to the tap before grabbing the hand cloth and pressing it over her red-tipped fingers.

"I know I said I'd stop. But I need to be clean, Draco. It might not be visible, but I still feel the blood dried under my nails. I can still feel the grime etched into my skin. I'm dirty. I need to be clean. I need -"

She stopped suddenly. Closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. Counted to ten. She relaxed into the man holding her to him.

Draco Malfoy tightened his arms a fraction and guided her from the washroom before speaking.

"Babe. You are clean. You are safe. And you are clean. Let's go grab a cuppa, yeah? Potterette brought you some tea leaves from her team's tour of China. Remember? Do you want to try some of that?"

She wasn't fragile. She wasn't broken. She was Hermione Granger. She was capable of defeating all odds and smashing expectations. But sometimes. Sometimes it felt like she was 17 again. On the run. Camping in the woods. Staunching battle wounds and making empty promises of safety to dying comrades. And she could never get clean enough.

The war had been over for ten years. Ten years of bi-weekly therapy with a mind healer. Mandatory for all adolescent participants of the war for the first six months. But unlike her peers, Hermione continued. Thanks to Healer Roberts, her night terrors had decreased to once or twice a month rather than nightly. She no longer jumped at the sound of apparation. She was able to smell the sea without bursting into tears. She could even wear sleeveless shirts without crumbling in misery at her permanent scar.

Ten years of therapy had helped her immensely. But she wasn't able to completely stop her compulsive cleaning. Everything had to be tidy. Especially her hands. Hermione scrubbed her hands raw several times a day to feel clean. The frequency varied depending on the stress of her job and the stress from relationships.

Lately, she'd been holding steady at two. Two times a day she scrubbed until her skin cracked.

That was good.

When she'd returned to Hogwarts to complete her 7th year and take her NEWTS, she'd nearly sent Madame Pomfrey into hysterics before she just learned the process of brewing healing potions and whispering the accompanying charms herself.

"Here you are."

A large mug was pressed into her hands and she glanced up with a murmured thanks.

Draco Malfoy was largely the reason she was beginning to get a handle on her OCD. It would never disappear - she knew that - but he helped her reduce the problematic behavior significantly.

He sipped his own tea and tried not to stare at his girlfriend. They'd been living together for nearly five years now. He'd never regret that decision. But it was hard to see her struggle. It hurt to know that there was nothing he could really do to help her. Nothing substantial. He just wanted to help her.

"Thank you." Hermione raised the mug up in a semi-salute. "Not only for the tea. Thank you for stopping me. Today was a little rough. I couldn't stop myself."

Draco stared into her big brown eyes and felt his heart break a little.

"It's nothing to be ashamed about. Nothing to worry about even. I love you. I'll help in anyway that I can. Besides, we are all a little damaged. Will always be that way. War ruins people. Even Potter still deals with his anger outbursts. And Weasley. His compulsive lying has gotten him into more trouble - and you and Potter dragged along with him. Potterette is always flying hard, jumping off things, throwing herself after the Quaffle. Each spot of adrenaline has to be bigger than the last. You wash your hands. I won't tell you it will all be ok. It will likely never be completely ok. But we have each other. You have your friends. We all understand, to some degree. We understand. In that regard, we'll be ok."

His speech had started out strong but ended on a whisper. He'd left himself out of the list of damaged souls. She knew his issues. Knew them well. And he had zero desire to bring them to light more than was necessary.

Draco rubbed absently at the faded Mark on his forearm. He briefly thought of retreating into the washroom to give himself a little relief. But he pushed the thought aside. Hermione needed him. She needed him beside her for the time being. He wouldn't let her down ever again.

So he sat on the overstuffed navy blue sofa. And drank tea. And rubbed at his arm. He'd destress later when she was ok. Only after she was ok.

Hermione set her empty mug down and placed a hand on his, stopping the movement of his fingers. She took a deep breath before speaking.

"If I can't, you can't. That's our rule. You have to follow it."

She quirked a small smile at him. Even though she didn't feel very humorous. They needed distractions. And for once, she knew that they shouldn't find it in each other. Not right now. Not when it was so obvious his thoughts were headed down a dark path.

"Tell me about your day. Did you manage to figure out the correct stirring pattern for that new potion?"

She tucked herself into a ball and into his side, curling her toes up under his leg seeking warmth.

He glanced down at her and tugged the long plait of brown curls playfully before responding.

"I did not. But it's only the third day of experimentation at this stage of the brewing. I'll figure it out soon. I always do. How about you? Did you complete your annotations on that runes text? You're so deep into it that you were murmuring translation methods in your sleep last night. You know being a swot makes me hard. All I wanted to do was jump you this morning. Had I not had that important meeting with a distributer, I would have."

Hermione grinned at his teasing and nearly purred. Both from the compliment and the comfort she was currently receiving. The hand drawing patterns on her thigh was more than mildly distracting in combination with the one in her hair.

"You'll manage. You're absolutely the cleverest potions master I know."

They both shivered at the unspoken memory of their old professor.

"Today was horrid. I was halfway through the last set of runes when I realized I mixed up two symbols. I had to go back and redo all portions of the text that referenced 'war' and 'light'.Thankfully it was only about 35 pages to rework. Now I'm nearly prepared to begin writing the correlating Arithmancy work in preparation for my dissertation. If the final goal wasn't so damn amazing I'd be sorely tempted to give up this attempt as a ludicrous fancy. As it stands, though, this work could potentially be the basis for a whole new field of magical study. The potential is literally limitless."

Her voice was soft, but Draco recognized the passion for learning and amazement for magic that crept into her tone. Her wonderment of magic, even after all these years of living in his world - their world - charmed him. It was cute.

"You're going to do amazing things, Babe, I just know it."

He kissed the top of her head and shifted to find a more comfortable position. It was late, but he didn't feel like going off to bed quite yet. He wasn't sure he trusted himself. Just twenty more minutes and he might be able to control himself, probably. Twenty more.

"I love you, Draco Malfoy. No matter what anyone else thinks, I know you're good for me. Good to me. More than I deserve, most likely."

She turned suddenly and pressed a kiss to the nearest part of him she could reach. His bicep. Then looked up and smiled sleepily.

"I love you very much."

She could state her feelings a thousand times and he was sure his heart would still burst from joy at her declaration.

"I love you, too. I love you, too."

She moved back and settled further into his embrace before slowly drifting to sleep.

Merlin but he loved his life, even if he would forever be fucked up from his role in the war. He wouldn't trade it for anything because it led to this. To her.

—

A/N: This is just a little snapshot of my favorite couple semi-dealing with their various issues from the war. I love the idea of them living happily ever after but PTSD is a very real thing that I think they both would have in spades, and would assert itself in different ways for different people. I love the fluffy Dramione (I've certainly written them), but sometimes I feel like the nitty gritty (even briefly mentioned) deserves it's place too, so I've combined them sort of.

This is just a one-shot for now, but I'm toying with the idea of expanding it into small vignettes that show how they help and hinder each other as they attempt to heal.

Please leave me a review and let me know what you think!

xoxo Court