Skinny Monsters

She found herself crying out his name in a cold sweat. She awoke with a start, breathing slow and breathing heavy. She lay on her navy bed, staring out at the barrage of light fall rain in the grassy field outside her room. A still hot cup of cider rested on her nightstand, one of few things she had brought from the Muggle world. The room was dark save for a lone candle she used while she read. She often forgot to blow it out before she dozed off, a dangerous habit, she knew. The thunder-less lightning outside made the trees look like skinny monsters, and so dark was the night. It was tailor-made to be peaceful and quiet, but her mind was not peaceful and her sniffling was far from quiet. She lay her head back down on the damp pillow. She had thought of Draco. They had fought earlier that night, blood pressures were raised, but wands were raised higher. She had said things she certainly didn't mean, and she hated herself for it, but then again, she hated him for making her say them. She had called him a failure, scoffed, and then she said that Slytherin fit him, being a snake in the mud and the muck. She had said that not just him, but his whole family was a failure. She was called, of course, a Mudblood, a waste of good magic, a waste of life. Hermione was defending the honor of her friends, Draco his family, and both hid their hurt poorly. Draco left in anger, Hermione stayed in silence, and that's when the rain began. She could never understand why Draco always had to put down her friends, and she bet he had no idea either. She had no idea why she always stooped to his level and let him get to her….she had no idea why Draco did the same.

She sat up and looked at the cider, which grew colder by the minute. She didn't mind, she wasn't thirsty anyway. She looked over in the corner at where Draco threw his own cup of cider, it happened right before he called her a waste…a waste of everything. She had forgotten to clean it up and it stained her cream-colored carpet. It wasn't the fact that he didn't even like or know what cider was, it wasn't even the fact that he threw it and made a mess after she had taken all that time to make it, it was the fact that he didn't notice or care that the crash scared Hermione and made her flinch. Despite what she did when he left, she was strong enough to not let him see her tears. Speaking of, she wiped away a tear with the palm of her hand. She had thought they were past the fighting and the taunting since they professed their love a year prior. Hermione professed love. The best Draco could do was admit that he cared, but that was enough for her. Through a hazy and biased mind, she tried to remember how it all even started. Draco was going on and on about his argument with Harry and Ron. He was telling them something, and they simply wouldn't listen. That's when he started to demean them, and she blocked everything else out that he said in her fit, and then came a spew of emotion. Another tear escaped the well. The candle that flickered made it appear golden. The rain wasn't anywhere near letting up, so she figured she could get more sleep. At the foot of the bed was a crumbled dress, blue with light blue ruffles. Her fingernails and toes matched the color, and her hair was up in an elegant bun before she sweated it out. She wanted to feel beautiful for once. She wanted to look like Ginny, whose hair was sensual fire and skin was soft marble. She wanted to look like Luna, whose name was even pretty. Coincidently, Luna often reminded Hermione of the moon, maybe it was the paleness of both of them, how they both shined in the light and the dark alike. She wanted to look like anyone but herself, bumps on her face and her hair a consistent, frayed mess. Draco and she were supposed to go dancing. Now she didn't know where he was and she was drowning herself in cider, books, and rain-induced sleep.

She remembered the first time she tried on the dress for him. She giggled, spinning around for him to see. It took him a while to say, as if he was building up the strength, but he had called her stunning. "Bloody stunning," to be exact. It wasn't often that he complimented anyone, and it made her blush and smile, her pale, pasty skin finally getting a shade of color. Now she was sitting on a bed not in a dress but in his clothes, boy's boxers and a gray t-shirt. She was nothing but a waste of good magic, a waste of life. She never knew when Draco spoke out of anger or out of truth, and she figured sometimes it was both. It was years of fighting, years…before she finally took him into a kiss by some random dying oak tree one summer. She wondered if she never did that would they ever have experienced love, or some version of it. She covered her mouth to conceal a sob. The wells overflowed with memories, and the precious, golden thoughts spilled out and ran down her cheeks and hand. Her palm was stained with lipstick, and her lips were smeared. Words escaped her as she cried, but they were so incoherent she didn't even know what she was saying. Sorry, maybe, or I love you, come back, or more likely, Damn you, Draco. It haunted her wondering what Draco was so afraid of. He always found ways to push her away when she got too close. He would talk about Harry and Ron, or talk about her parents and how it was better off that they don't remember her. He would often divert from a kiss, and not return a hug or half-heart it. She blamed herself most of all, always hiding her frustration until she was alone, and then she would break down. And every time she would do so, Damn you, Draco, was uttered. Damn him for making her cry and affecting her so, damn him for making her hate him, damn him for making her love him. She viewed Draco as a coward for certain reasons, and then she would view him a hero for others, although a reluctant one. So often she would cry herself to sleep, tears staining the words of books she would fall asleep on top of. Thinking back to all of those times, she never eased the tension, always calling Draco names back, planting bombs in the deep trenches of his mind, exploding on impact. Their love was a warzone; their love was a never ending war that was bound to end in verbal apocalypse one day. She found it harder and harder to swallow after a while. All the crying had made her breathing erratic. She would have Anapneo'd herself if she knew where her wand was. Instead, she kept on weeping, matching the rain outside that had picked up intensity.

She almost didn't hear the knocking, drowned out by the rain and her broken voice. She turned her head fast, her back to the door. It was quiet for a while, until the door sounded out again. The knock was rapid but quiet. She looked at the clock, it was past midnight. There weren't many people up at this time, and she wondered who it was.

"Ron?" she asked the darkness with a wrecked voice.

"Harry?" she asked again.

She cleared her throat before speaking again, and tried to dissipate the fact that she had been crying.

"Draco?"

Another rapid knock, louder this time.

She got up from the bed and took the dress to a dresser. She used it as a towel to wipe away the mess on her face and then she stuffed it into the dresser. Slowly, she walked to the door, listening for more specific sounds. She always paid attention to trivial detail, like the pattern of Harry's, Ron's, and Draco's breathing. She stood on her tiptoes to look out of the peephole, but the hall darkness marred any chance of identification. "Is it you, Draco?" There was no answer, but she could make out shallow breathing, which didn't sound like Draco's at all. She bit her lip and laid her head on the door. She put her hand on the door right next to her head, and she could feel the door move a little, someone had put their hand on the opposite side to match hers. "You're not…you're not a failure, Draco."

She timidly put her fingers around the thimble and unlocked the door. Pressing her lips to the door with closed eyes, she moved away and lay back in the bed.

Her heavy eyes fluttered open after awhile. The candlelight was blown out, but she knew she had once again forgotten to do so. A curl of hair that rested on her glossed cheek was brought behind her ear to fall in line with the others. She drowsily turned her head to see silver eyes that shined in the dark, like Luna, both the girl and the moon. She fought a smile from making its way onto her face. They stared at each other for moments, neither speaking. In their embrace, neither noticed their interlocking hands. She kept throwing around words in her head, words she could say that would make everything better. All she could manage was his name.

"Dra-" He interrupted her with a kiss, she moaned into his mouth the rest of the words. He put his arm around her waist and brought her up closer to him. On his tongue, she tasted iron. He had been bleeding, but he never gave her a chance to question it. On her tongue, he tasted longing. It had a taste all its own, a taste that's indescribable, a taste that's harrowing. It made him sad and frustrated, feeling the anxiety in her motions and sound. He could feel the pain in her bones, he could imagine her sitting there crying all night. The kiss was rushed, frantic, feral, like unchained animals. Such a kiss speaks so much in only moans and pants. I love you, and I'll never be able to have you. Her trembling hands pushed up his shirt. His stomach was cold, rough; cuts decorated him like a celebrated war.

"I'm so sorry," Draco whispered into her ear, pulling up her shirt. "I'm sorry for the way I am."

She lifted her arms so he could finish taking her shirt off. "You're stunning," he said.

His hand caressed her modest chest as her hand found its place in his blonde hair. Even though their eyes were closed they could see each other, all the way to the marrow of their bones. They kept each other together, even while tearing each other apart. While their love was skinny and malnourished, every kiss and every touch fed it, made it stronger.

His lips found hers again, and his hands found the waistband of her underwear.

"Close your eyes," he whispered.

"Why?" she asked, wiping away what once was gold.

He waited a moment before answering. "Do you remember that afternoon by the oak tree?"

She nodded her head. She was shocked he remembered, to be honest.

"Do you remember the promise I made there?"

She nodded again.

"What did I say?"

"You said I've changed you, and that you'll try your best to return the favor."

His breathing was labored, his eyes fluttering open and closed often. "Are you okay?" Hermione asked, sitting up.

"Do you…do you remember what else I said?"

"Are you okay?"

"Answer me, Hermione."

"No…no I don't remember."

He groaned before speaking, holding his sides. "I said…I said I'll always be the prick you've grown to hate, but I'm also trying to be more of the boy you've grown to love."

"Malfoy, you've been in a fight, haven't you? I need to heal you."

"Close your eyes, Granger."

"Draco…"

"Hermione…" he smiled weakly, "Close them."

She huffed, closing her eyes stubbornly.

"Now imagine your favorite place, or imagine the oak tree. Remember the promises made there."

As she lay still, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband. She lifted her legs so he could pull the underwear down. She imagined a beautiful, almost surreal golden field full of flowers and featherlike pollen. The sun shone bright but emitted no uncomfortable heat. She envisioned an ascended place, shining brightly and blinding her, feather falling and kissing her cheeks. Back in reality, she could feel Draco position himself closer to her, spreading her legs.

"Take my hands in yours. If I'm hurting you, squeeze them," he said.

She opened her eyes slowly, straining to see him fully in the darkness. "I'm sorry I yelled, Draco."

"Shut up," he began to smile again. "Just take my hands."

Her manicured, light-blue fingernail colored hands ran down his arms to interlock the gapes with their fingers again. She closed her eyes and began to imagine a summer afternoon by the not-so-random dying oak tree where she finally had taken a chance and incentive. She remembered how Ginny had told her that's where she had kissed Harry for the first time. Hermione took the story as advice.

Hermione looked up at the sky, wondering just what was the sun. Every time she would look at it, she would be reminded of a quote she read long ago when she was a little girl. She wondered if there actually were nine hundred and ninety nine other suns out there, and she wondered if any burned as bright as the one she stared at.

"What are you doing?" Draco scoffed.

"I'm looking at the sun, Malfoy."

"Are you dim? You can go blind that way."

"I'm aware."

The day wasn't too hot. A breeze blessed the grassy field right outside Hermione's room. Flowers saturated the ground. It was impossible to walk without stepping on one. Someone she had coerced him into spending the day with her, and she was enjoying every moment of it. Every moment he wasn't talking, that is. She knew it was stupid to look at the sun, she didn't care. She didn't need him belittling her every step she took.

Draco stood still with his hands in his coat pockets. He stared at one flower on the ground. His mouth had a grimace one would give if in pain. She saw the look and rolled her eyes. She felt he could at least show a smidgeon of joy.

"Are you not enjoying yourself?"

"I never said that."

Draco placed a kiss on her forehead. His lips stayed there for a while, as if he had fallen asleep or had died in that position. It took a lot of energy from him to pull back. He swallowed blood back into his throat.

"Well you seem to be implying it. You're obviously not having fun. Why did you agree to even come with me?"

"You wanted me to."

She stood up, the scarf around her neck blowing in the cool wind. "Don't give me that, Draco. You wouldn't have come if I had begged."

He smirked, bringing his eyes up to her. "For the record, you did beg."

"We can go…"

"I don't want to go."

She walked closer to him. "Really?"

"Yeah…really. I'm enjoying myself, Granger. Is that what you want to hear? I'm having fun."

She smiled. "You have a good heart."

He scoffed and looked away. He lifted his foot to see a white and yellow flower crushed into the ground.

"You crushed a flower!"she shouted with fake anger.

"It was an accident. You can't walk any bloody where without crushing one."

She could feel him move inside her, making them whole. Their minds clashed as much as their bodies. It was as if they shared the same thoughts, the same emotions for those little moments of pleasure. Subconsciously, she moaned and whimpered, and she squeezed his hands. She really wasn't fully aware of what was happening, being lost to her reverie. Draco kissed her neck with red-stained, sticky lips. A trembling, weak hand brushed through her glorious hair, breaking their hands apart, and his heavy eyes couldn't break away from the sight of her beauty.

"I can," she said.

He looked down at her feet, where she had taken off her shoes and set them down by the disgusting, old, black tree. "That's because you took off your shoes. Aren't they cold? It's not that warm out here."

"The sun's out. It's always warm when the sun's out."

"What about the breeze?"

"I don't feel it."

"Well, it's also because you weigh like seventy-eight pounds that those flowers don't' crush under you."

"I weigh one nineteen, thank you very much," she huffed. "And don't you know that it's impolite to talk about a girl's weight?"

"No…I…I wasn't aware."

Hermione cringed at herself, feeling embarrassed and idiotic. She also felt pity and sympathy for Draco. He wasn't used to having intimacy with strangers, let alone one with a girl he was….close to.

It was like she was dreaming. She whispered Draco's name in the darkness, over and over. His hands ran over the curves of her hips, pulling her to him and him to her. He wanted to breathe her air, see how she saw, and hear how she heard. He wanted to look from her eyes and see just what she saw in him. He wanted to see just what the hell it was about him that made her stay for years and years. What was it that made her persist? Her hands grabbed fistfuls of the sheets below her, crushing them like he crushed flowers. Draco was on edge, and he flinched a little when thunder finally began outside.

Hermione snuggled into Draco as they lay by the dying tree. He sat there counting the rings of it, counting its age and figuring in his head how long it had left to live. Hermione laughed loudly.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"What?"

"What are you doing with the tree?"

"I'm counting the rings. I'm seeing its age."

Hermione put her head in her hands and laughed again. "And you call me dim? You can only count that if the tree's cut down. You're just counting the grooves in the bark."

Draco sighed and looked up at the sky, just like Hermione had. "I'm gonna forget that ever happened."

Hermione kept a smile as she looked up at him, noting his statue-esque features. After a while the smile turned somber.

"Why in the world were you looking for its age?"

"Just to see how long it had left."

"That seems a tad morbid."

"You forget who you talk to," he grinned.

"Seems so... Draco…have you ever killed anyone?"

"Hermione…" he muttered, his lips to the bottom of her chin. Her legs that were wrapped around him tightened their grasp. He lowered a hand to rub her thigh, cold sweat glistening in the moonlight. "You're not a waste of life."

"What?" he asked, looking at her.

She kept her eyes on him. "It's just a question."

He lowered his head and looked back up at the sky. He was quiet for so long that Hermione assumed he wanted the breeze to answer for him.

"I've experienced it before…in a way."

"Have you killed anyone?"

"I've done some bad things, Granger," he began, sitting up. He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal the Dark Mark etched there, like words in stone, words of ownership and constraint. "I've done bad things."

She put her hand on the mark. "Everyone has." She lowered her head in thought. "Was any of it ever your choice?"

He chuckled at the question.

"Is anything ever my choice?"

Her head rose.

"Except for me coming here with you, of course. You know…out of all the things I've done…the only thing I'm really proud of is surrendering to you. I know it's a bad choice of words, but…you know what I mean."

She snuggled her head into him.

"I care for you, Gra…Hermione. I'm glad I'm here."

"You know something? I'm not sure…I'm not sure how much we know about each other. It's startling, to be honest. You have this…enormous impact on me and I don't even know your favorite color, or your favorite food." She smiled sadly again. "All I know is your name."

"You know my history."

"And I wish I didn't. I wish everything that's happened between us for the past six years would just…disappear. I wish we could start over from right here."

"You're not a waste of anything," he said, kissing her lips.

"I love you so much," she told him.

"Well, we can't. Not that I wish we could anyhow."

"You want to keep those memories of us fighting and me crying and yelling at you?"

"I want to keep the memories of the make-ups and the apologies."

She was silent after that.

She played with his fingers, and she was surprised he let her. They were silent a time, thoughts bouncing around in both of their heads.

"What do you fear, Draco?" She looked at him, determination in her eyes. Determination of what was the cryptic part. "What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid of anything."

"Everyone fears something. Be it death, being alone, or love."

She lowered her head and brought her lips to Draco's forearm, kissing his mark. She then sat up and grew closer to him. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she bent her head. "But don't fear me," she said before kissing him.

Draco felt the pleasure of Hermione and the pain of his wounds. He remembered the fight, and how brutal and bloody it was. He could barely even see in the woods it took place in. He was lucky to have survived.

Everything was loud but slow, everything was chaos but it was beautiful when taken in slowly. The lighting sound of spells clashing, the deep slit of Avada Kedavras piercing flesh; this was the sound of titans. The air was a red mist, the men inhaled it like nothing was wrong, like the air was clear and the night was serene. But it was not, the night was shrouded in fog and rain, and the air was thick with said red mist. Broken men scattered the floor, their lives lost to the mud and the rain. They once were brothers, sons, fathers, cousins, lovers. They once were living. They once were souls. Now they looked to the cloudy sky for the remainder of the battle, until someone would come and bother to close their eyes and carry them away. Splinters of broken wood from the shattered forest trees stabbed men in their feet, the edges of stone rocks buried beneath the fall leaves cracked their skulls as they stumbled and fell. This was the sound of titans. They once were souls, but also Death Eaters, and Draco was a traitor to two armies now. He was a lone soldier.

"You've changed me, Hermione. Remind me to repay you for that one day. I'll always be that little asshole prick you've grown to hate over all these years. But…but I'll try to be the boy you love, too. I'll try to be more of what I want, and less of what is expected of me."

"I love you, Draco."

"I…I care for you too, Hermione."

"I love you, Hermione," he managed to say through their kiss, both of them moving slowly in the early morning. A quicker pace was picked up, and Hermione began to tremble as did he. Hermione finally opened her eyes as if awakening from a deep sleep. She finally felt like that princes she so longed to be, with Draco being the knight and the first thing she sees.

"Hi," she smiled.

He only looked at her with awe behind those weak, silver eyes.

"I want to see you. Light the candle."

Draco reached over the bed and dug into his pants for his wand. He then set fire to the end of the candle. Hermione smiled as Draco became illuminated. The wears of battle were on his face. "You look terrible."

"Thanks."

"I'm tired."

"Then sleep."

Her quiet breathing replied to him.

"What?"

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

He swallowed. "No."

She nodded her head and bit her lip as if confirming something.

"If I could, I would, but I can't," he sighed.

"They're still looking for you."

He lay his head down on her shoulder. She ran her fingers mindlessly through his hair and white gold streamed from her. The thunder boomed loudly and if someone walked in, they would think that Hermione was the one protecting Draco that night.

"Will you at least sleep with me tonight?"

He nodded, his glare at the window. She reached down and pulled the cover over them. "Will you even be alive in the morning?"

He nodded again. "The blood's not that bad."

"I can heal you. We just have to find my wand."

"It won't help. Let's just go to sleep."

She turned to where her back was to him and he looped his arm around her as she snuggled into him. "I don't want to wake up to a dead Draco. I'll bring you back and kill you myself."

Draco smiled, closing his eyes.

"I'm sorry for everything, Hermione. If I could go back and change things, I would."

"What made you change your mind? What changed?"

"Everything."

Hermione woke to birds singing outside. The sun pierced the patterned window and shone down on her, though there was no breeze in the hot room. She stretched her arms and legs out and yawned quietly. The candle had been blown out again, and the one who did it was long gone. She sat up in the bed, using the sheet to cover herself. The mess Draco had made in the corner with the cider was cleaned up. The once shattered cup sat on the nightstand by hers, and the stain on the carpet had disappeared. But while one stain was gone, another was made where he had slept. A huge red stain that smelled and tasted of iron. He lied.

She got up and made herself breakfast. She read a book while she enjoyed an apple and a new cup of cider. The book was the last thing she was thinking of, though, and it took all of her strength to keep her from crying again. She had contemplated taking a shower, but she wanted his scent to sink in first. A knock on the door came a few hours after she awoke. It quickened her heartbeat. It was Harry, who had panic on his features.

"Hermione, did you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"About last night, there were Death Eaters coming here, assassins. They're not done counting the bodies out by the forest."

"Did anyone tell you, or warn you or anything? Who killed them?"

"Um…no. No one did. I don't know who did it, they're long gone by now."

She nodded and looked to the floor. "I think you should go now, Harry. I'll be there shortly."

She closed the door in the confused Harry's face. Walking back toward the bed, she noticed what she hadn't before, a crushed white and yellow flower from the grassy, sunny field.

The crushed white and yellow flower Draco had stepped on.