Draco scowled unhappily. It was the Yule Ball, and once again he was stuck holding Pansy's ridiculous clutch while she prattled on endlessly about this girl's dress and that boy's tuxedo. Suddenly she went silent, and Draco looked up, grateful for the reprieve. His breath caught in his throat. Standing at the top of the stairs was Hermione Granger, but not Hermione Granger. The face was the same, but her hair, her dress… all of it seemed as un-Hermione as she could be. Where was the wild hair that was always, frustratingly, falling in the way of her face? Where was the tower of books she always seemed to have in her arms?
He watched her the entire evening, fascinated. The only times she really looked like Hermione was when she shot Potter or the Weasley boy a scolding expression, or when she glanced towards Draco with… something on her face. By the end of the dance, he was nearly mad with longing. The way he'd been watching her all night, it shouldn't have surprised her when he found her crying in an upstairs corridor and immediately embraced her.
"D-Draco-" she stuttered, trying to pull back and wipe her eyes. He didn't give her a chance to continue.
"What happened? Did somebody hurt you?" Draco demanded. The idea made his blood boil; if someone had hurt her- but no, she was shaking her head.
"No, but- I didn't think you cared, Draco," she said, making it sound like a question. Draco frowned for a moment; surely he'd been obvious enough over the years. He leaned down quickly and brushed a butterfly kiss across her mouth. Hermione pulled back with a sharp gasp. Her head and body shaking now she simply turned and ran. Draco turned angrily, and slammed his fists into the wall over and over, muttering stupidstupidstupid in time to his punches. He didn't even notice when his knuckles started to bleed. Finally, exhausted, he sank against the wall and buried his face in his hands.
Why couldn't he be from Gryffindor? Maybe then he'd be more- more- more than he was. Braver, stronger, something. Maybe then he wouldn't be so completely and utterly idiotic as to think that Hermione Granger –perfect, brilliant, Hermione Granger- would even look twice at someone like him. Draco Malfoy, the heartless heir to Malfoy Manor, and the stigma that came with it. What Draco wouldn't do to be born to somebody else, somebody who wouldn't care who his friends were or who he fell in love with.
A dark laugh forced its way out of Draco's chest. Love. What a ridiculous idea, and yet, here he was, completely in love with Hermione Granger, of all people. Not that anybody could blame him. She was brilliant, more intelligent than everyone else in their year combined, and she had this, this spark when she wanted to know something, a spark the told everyone within sight that while she might seem like a know-it-all, she was stubborn and bold as well, a true Gryffindor.
Draco, on the other hand, was ridiculously cold and calculating. He didn't feel things, except perhaps scorn. He most certainly didn't feel things for Muggle-born girls, that would be madness.
Then I must be mad, Draco thought wryly. Because he clearly did feel quite a lot of things for Hermione. He knew every line and plane of her face; the way her cheek would quirk up when she gave a closed-lip smile, the light in her eyes when she was devouring a book, even the slightly maternal expression she had whenever she looked at Potter and Weasley. He knew the curl of her hair, the way it would break free and have its way by lunch no matter how she managed to wrangle it in the mornings. He'd memorized the way she wrote, the soft curl of graceful letters though she'd only learned to use a quill a few years before. He could recite from memory her favorite books and color, and knew what foods she liked and detested. He'd been perfectly content to watch from afar, enjoying her little victories over others and stewing in jealousy over the growing attention she was garnering from the boys.
And then he had to blow it all in one fell swoop, ensuring she'd never so much as glance his way ever again. Truly, he must have been the largest idiot on the face of the earth.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Hermione muttered to herself, punching her pillow as hard as she could. First Viktor had been a completely arrogant ass the entire night, then Ron had suddenly decided to go into big brother mode over absolutely nothing, and now Malfoy had kissed her and she had run away. Honestly, she couldn't have been more cowardly if she had tried.
Four stupid years she'd spent, trying desperately to carve out a place for herself in this new world, to find somewhere she belonged, to forget who she'd been in primary school and to just start anew. Now all of that could be dashed to pieces. She had no doubt that by tomorrow rumors would be flying about her and Malfoy, and there would go all credibility with any female in the building. Either he had done it as a sort of cruel joke, which was bad, or he genuinely did like her, which was worse. No matter what, tomorrow was going to be hell. If she had just stood there and punched him out like she'd been able to last year, or perhaps give him a decent hexing like Ron had tried the year before, the rumor mill would've been kinder to her. But running away, especially from a Slytherin was tantamount to treason in Gryffindor house.
She flopped onto her bed, not even bothering to remove her dress. Many of the girls had –ah- alternate sleeping arrangements for the evening already arranged, and the few that didn't were still dancing or stumbling around the common room.
Perhaps they're right, she thought to herself, maybe I'll never be more than this… just another Mudblood girl. She would never say things like that to Ron or Harry, they would both go mental if they heard half the things girls told each other about her. Sometimes, she longed for the blissful ignorance in which they seemed to live, drifting around the school, being the subject of but never hearing rumors.
Slowly, reluctantly, she got up and changed into her nightclothes. It was late, she should want to sleep, but her mind refused to settle. This wasn't hugely odd for her; oftentimes it would be three or four in the morning before she could fall asleep. Instead she would spend her excess hours in McGonagall's private library. The professor rarely stayed up beyond nine, but had given Hermione permission to use it at any time should she feel the need. And right now, she could use the heavy comfort of a spell book.
Her mind was made up then. She leapt out of bed and slid out of the common room, murmuring niceties to the Fat Lady as she went to ensure her admittance later in the night. Nobody tried to stop her, or stopped to watch as she hurried towards the hidden doorway. Perhaps Malfoy hadn't told anyone yet.
She cut down an empty corridor, hoping to avoid a majority of the late-night revelers by taking a longer route. Unfortunately, she had forgotten that down this particular corridor was a rather good-looking blond boy with eyes that made her forget her own name.
Draco was leaning on the wall for support, his face hidden in his hands and his knees drawn up to be level with his shoulders so that his forehead could rest on them. A pang of… something caught Hermione off guard, and before she could reason with herself she stepped towards Draco and laid a hand on his shoulder.
His head snapped up. At first his gray eyes seemed warm and almost vulnerable, but then a layer of ice dropped over them as he jumped to his feet. "What do you want, Granger," he spat, acting like her name was a particularly disgusting piece of food that he wanted out of his mouth as soon as possible.
She drew herself up in offense for a moment, but then remembered his vulnerability only seconds before. "I wanted to see if you were okay, Draco," she said softly. He blinked blankly at her for a few moments, and then his face warped into a familiar sneer.
"Of course I'm all right, Granger. Just had to settle a bit of a bet, you see. Goyle thought you'd put out right in the hall, but I disagreed. I said I'd have to at least offer to let you do my homework for the rest of the year before you would."
Hermione stepped back, taking her hand away. She would not let her pain show, not in front of him. He would only take it, warp it, and send it back at her in a new way to slice into her again. But despite her fears, her temper sparked and she couldn't quite hold back her retort. "That's right, Draco, go and hide behind that snarky face so nobody sees what an empty person you really are," she shot at him, turning on her heel and beginning to leave. He stepped in front of her, suddenly and abruptly blocking her path. When she tried to go around, he only moved to keep her. He caught at her wrist, too hard to be comfortable.
"Listen to me now, Granger. If either of us is empty here, it's you. At least I know how to cut back and enjoy myself now and again. You live your entire life in a book, and you wouldn't know reality if it-"
"If it what, Draco? If it kissed me in the corridor after hating me for four years? After doing nothing but abusing my friends? After calling me mudblood?" Hermione interrupted, yanking away from him. "I know reality, Draco. Do you?" He tried to speak, but Hermione barreled on. "Of course you don't. You've always had dear old mummy and daddy out to protect you, showing you how to be who you are. You've never spent a day in your life trying to fit in, trying to hide the weird things you can do that other kids can't. You've never been beaten black and blue simply because you managed to learn something faster, or because your hair looked strange, or your teeth weren't perfect. You've had it easy, Draco. Don't talk to me about reality!" Her voice had risen to a shout and Draco was cowering. Ha! She, Hermione Granger, had the great Draco Malfoy shying away.
"I never meant to call you that," Draco finally muttered, pushing his hair back out of his face. Hermione paused.
"What do you mean?"
"That word. I thought- I don't know, I thought saying it would get me attention, make me look good to the older kids. I didn't- I didn't really know… what it meant. I didn't think it would hurt…"
Hermione laughed shrilly. "Oh, yes, spot on job there, Draco. I was only joking, of course insulting my family and an entire race didn't hurt! I was just having a laugh."
Draco scowled at her. "I'm serious!" he exclaimed. "I didn't think anybody could hurt you, Hermione! Even then you were- you were like someone from a story. Brilliant, and brave, and too far above us to even notice us." He fell silent, staring sullenly at the floor. Hermione didn't know what to say. She'd never heard him call her by her name before, or talk about anyone with that sort of… of reverence in his voice.
"Well… you did," she replied lamely, turning away.
She was leaving. He couldn't let her leave, not right now, not after he'd been such a prat. He caught at her arm, snagging her sleeves in his fingers and spinning her to face him. He couldn't speak for a moment. "I… I didn't mean it. I swear," he said earnestly. "I'm sorry." The last words exploded out of him, shocking them both. Draco Malfoy didn't apologize, he didn't feel guilt, and he certainly did not have a lump growing in his throat over this brunette.
Hermione stared at him with shock written across her face. "You're sorry," she repeated, as if she'd never heard the words before. "You, Draco Malfoy, are apologizing to me, Hermione Granger. Am I getting this correct?"
Draco only nodded. He could understand her confusion, he could hardly follow it himself, and he was the one who was instigating it. It was beyond his control now; he couldn't stop the stream of words that were about to spill over. He pushed his hair away from his face again. "I'm sorry I've been such a prat to you. You- you don't deserve to be treated like that. By anybody. I'll just go now…" He started to walk away. Something pulled on his sleeve. He turned. Hermione stood with her hand on his wrist, holding it lightly while she bit her lip nervously.
For a moment he stared at her. Then she spoke. "I was going to McGonagall's library… you're welcome to come along. If you'd like." Her voice had gone soft and shy. Draco found himself nodding and following her as she walked down the corridors, taking strange turns until they were in front of a painting of a young woman holding a scroll. The woman looked at Hermione, and then glanced at Draco skeptically.
"It's a little late for a study date, Hermione," the woman commented, but the painting swung out regardless to reveal a doorway. Hermione ignored the woman's words, stepping inside the doorway and gesturing for Draco to follow. He paused awkwardly in the door, but followed after a moment's hesitation.
Hermione always loved visiting McGonagall's library. It was filled with not just magic-related books, which it did have in vast amounts, but with Muggle novels as well. Twain and Austen, Shakespeare and King, all the books Hermione had loved growing up lined the walls. McGonagall had a softness for Muggle literature, and when Hermione had come to her during her first year feeling homesick, McGonagall had given her permission to come to the library whenever she needed to. For a moment, she let the unique peace of standing surrounded by books wash over her. She trailed her fingers across their spines as she walked the shelves, finding one she liked and picking it up.
"A Midsummer Night's Dream?" Draco asked near her ear, making her jump. She'd forgotten he was with her. She glanced up nervously and nodded; surprised that he'd recognized the Muggle literature. He gave her a small smile, void of his usual smugness. "I do read, you know. 'Lord, what fools these mortals be!'" he quoted with a mocking air. "Puck had that much right."
Hermione bristled. "The fairies were just as foolish as the people," she snapped back, irritated by his patronizing tone and his ridiculous behavior and his very presence, even though she had been the one to invite him.
"O! when she's angry she is keen and shrewd. She was a vixen when she went to school: And though she be but little, she is fierce," he teased, looking down at her with a smirk.
"Do I entice you? do I speak you fair?" she responded swiftly, closing the book and replacing it on the shelf a bit rougher than needed. When she turned around again she nearly squeaked. Draco had stepped much closer to her; she had to crane her neck to look into his face. He took another step closer, deliberately invading her space, and she refused to move back, to show weakness by doing what he wanted. He reached over very gently and twisted one of her curls around his fingers.
"Spurn me, strike me, Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave, Unworthy as I am, to follow you," he answered gently, leaning down to whisper the words in her ear. His breath ruffled her hair lightly, and she struggled to keep from doing something- either pushing him away or pulling him closer, she wasn't certain which.
"Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit," Hermione said, but her voice shook slightly and even she could tell she didn't mean it.
"The wildest hath not such a heart as you," Draco whispered, and he ducked his head to press his lips very softly under her jaw. She couldn't move, could hardly breath, couldn't think beyond marveling at Draco's nearness. "I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell."
"D-Draco," Hermione stammered as his hands slid over her waist. He pulled back to meet her gaze, letting her know she had his attention. "What brought all this on?" she asked, finally managing to cobble together a coherent sentence out of her jumbled thoughts.
"You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant; But yet you draw not iron, for my heart Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw, And I shall have no power to follow you," he said cryptically, dodging the question.
She pulled away a bit. "No more Shakespeare; I don't want to hear his words, I want to hear yours. What brought this on?" she repeated. Draco stepped back, leaving her suddenly cold as he ran a hand through his bangs. He took a deep breath, and she tried not to notice how his muscles showed through his white shirt–somehow he was still in his formal clothing, sans a dress jacket, while she was wearing a plain white nightgown.
"I- I don't honestly know. I shouldn't be here, doing this, but I am. Can we just leave it at that?" Draco asked, his eyes wide and pleading. Hermione refused to give in.
"No, we can't, Draco. You've treated me like the scum of the earth for four years, and now suddenly this. I want to know why," Hermione replied scornfully. She wanted the truth. She wanted to know why this boy was in this room with her while the rest of the castle slumbered. She wanted to know why he was suddenly so kind to her, when all previous signs had pointed to him hating her.
"Because you're you, Hermione. Because you're brilliant and kind, and loyal and brave. Because I couldn't take seeing Viktor Krum having you on his arm like you were- were some sort of accessory instead of the person you are. Because I hate seeing you cry, and I hate even more the idea that I'm part of the reason why," Draco exploded, the words blowing out of him like he had no control over them. He stepped closer, backing her against the bookcase. "Because I can't stand the idea of anyone hurting you, even me," he finished intensely, his eyes closed and his face set as if he were in pain.
Without thinking, Hermione reached up a hand and brushed her fingers across his cheekbone. His eyes flew open, and she'd never seen him look so open, so vulnerable. She went on her tiptoes and very carefully brushed her lips against his cheek. His arms went around her like it was an instinct, holding her close to him as he lowered his lips to meet hers.
Draco was certain she'd pull away again, and he couldn't deny his joy when she relaxed into him and her lips parted gently beneath his. He pulled her closer, wanting to drink every instant in so when she left he'd have something to remember. He wanted to remember everything, the feel of her soft nightgown under his fingers, the way she'd gasped lightly when he'd first kissed her, everything. Nothing could ruin this moment for him, and he couldn't think of a thing that could make it better. When they finally parted, he couldn't keep a smile off his face.
"Well, that was certainly something," he said quietly across the small space between them.
"These violent delights have violent ends," Hermione reminded him, changing plays on him abruptly, but giving him the only signal he needed to understand that she was as committed to this as he was.
"Then I defy you, stars!" Draco replied fiercely, kissing her again and again, unable to stop because she was urging him on, her fingers in his hair and across his back, making him push her against the wall until both of their chests were heaving trying to get enough air. Suddenly, a sharp noise interrupted them. It filled the air briefly, chirping once, twice, and then it was gone. Hermione pulled away, grabbing A Midsummer Night's Dream in one hand and pushing him underneath the table with the other. He went without complaint, confused enough to trust her instinct.
"Miss Granger!" he heard Professor McGonagall exclaim through the thick tablecloth. It must have been some sort of alarm that went off, something Hermione had rigged to warn her if someone was coming into the library. "It's terribly late to be reading."
"I know, Professor. But… tonight was rather difficult, so I thought I'd come in here to… even myself out a bit." Hermione's voice was earnest, and rang a bit too true for Draco to be completely comfortable with.
McGonagall made a sympathetic sound, as if this was a routine between them. Was Hermione often here? Why? Shouldn't she have been with her friends instead of alone? The idea of her by herself in here while her friends were off having fun bothered Draco more than he'd like to admit. He vaguely heard McGonagall leave and crawled out from beneath the heavy table coverings, straightening himself out.
"We've got to go, I told her I'd leave soon," Hermione insisted, pushing him out the doorway and into the corridor. Draco caught her hand as she turned to leave. Her brown eyes were wide as he looked at her, rememorizing every inch of her face before he spoke.
"When can I see you again?" he asked, knowing that if anything was going to happen between them it would have to be secret. Her friends would never accept him and his friends… well, the less said about them the better.
Hermione looked frantic for a moment, then her eyes cleared. "Tomorrow night, at midnight. Right here," she said, giving his hand a small squeeze. Draco nodded, and released her, watching as she flew down the hallway and out of sight.
"Tomorrow night," he repeated, and spent the rest of the night vainly telling himself it wasn't very long to wait.
Hermione hurried down the hall, knowing that if she didn't get far from Draco right now she wasn't going to be able to leave. She slipped into the common room; it was blissfully empty, and she retreated up to the comfort of her bed.
She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, remembering the way she and Draco had fit together perfectly, the way his face had lit up when she'd promised to meet him again. What have I gotten myself into?
The next night she stayed down in the common room after everyone else had gone to bed, telling Harry and Ron that she wanted to study a bit. Nobody questioned her; they all accepted that she'd rather study than sleep. Most of the time that was true enough, and tonight their assumptions were coming in handy. At a quarter to midnight she left, the Fat Lady complaining about her late night ramblings as she did so. Hermione ignored the painting, and rushed towards McGonagall's library.
Draco stood outside the painting, evidently arguing with the woman inside. He stopped when he saw her approach. "Hermione," he said, and relief was evident in his tone. "I wasn't sure you'd come."
Hermione only looked at him for a moment, honestly surprised that he was there. She hadn't been certain that he'd come either. "I wasn't sure you would, but what are you doing out here? Anybody could see you," Hermione answered.
"Because she-" Draco gestured at the witch in the painting, "wouldn't let me in." Hermione smiled at his frustration, and gave the witch a small wave. This time, she nodded, and the door opened. She took his hand, pulling him in after her, and he didn't let her release it after they were inside. Instead, he pulled her closer, one hand in hers and the other wrapping around her waist.
"I'm sorry," he murmured in her ear, bending down so that his lips could brush the shell of her ear. Hermione shook slightly at having him so near.
"What for?" she finally asked, leaning into him. She had no idea what she was doing, but something in her told her it didn't matter. Draco's grip on her tightened, making her stomach swoop as he slowly ran a hand across the small of her back.
"For everything," Draco said. "For being so cruel, and just… everything." Hermione slid her free hand up into his hair, moving his face so that she could meet his gaze. His eyes were huge and sad, tugging at her heart.
"Don't apologize. Let's just forget it ever happened," she said firmly. She didn't want to think about it, to remember the anger and hate between them over the years. All she wanted to think about was him here and now, standing with his arms around her and looking at her like he never wanted to look away.
Draco nodded, but his face didn't clear until Hermione leaned up to press a soft kiss to his lips. He pulled her closer until there was no space between them, until every line and plane of him was pressing into her and she couldn't breathe. He was still kissing her gently, barely brushing his lips against hers, and she thought she might explode if she didn't have more of him.
She nipped lightly at his lip, and he groaned but didn't move closer. "I won't break you know," Hermione whispered.
"Tempt not a desperate man," Draco growled softly, pushing her backwards until she bumped into the bookcase with a gasp. Hermione freed her hand and pulled Draco by the collar until she could taste him.
Draco was fairly certain he was going to go to hell for this. He knew he was terrible, and here he was, dragging Hermione down with him. But, for all his guilt, he couldn't seem to stop kissing her. When she pulled him closer by his collar, he'd made a sound he didn't recognize and fallen against her in complete abandon, pinning her against the bookcase with his own weight. He pressed kisses down her neck, unable to concentrate on anything outside of them. How had he ever mistaken the feelings he had for her as hatred?
He brought his mouth up to meet hers with a groan. She tasted incredible, and felt amazing underneath his hands. He couldn't think beyond this moment, this place, with her. He put a hand against the bookcase to try and steady himself, and it reminded him of exactly where they were. "We- we shouldn't be- not here," he murmured in the moments he could bear to keep his lips from hers.
Hermione pulled back a bit, an idea sparking in her eyes. "I think I know a place," she said, sliding free of his arms easily and reaching back to grab his hand. She pulled him up stairways to the seventh floor, stopping when they reached a tapestry that appeared to have dancing trolls in it. "Close your eyes," she whispered. "And think of someplace… nice." Draco complied, feeling a little strange as she led him up and down the hall three times. "Now open." Her voice was soft, like she was right next to his ear. His eyes opened to see a doorway that hadn't been there a moment ago.
She was right next to him, warm and real leaning against his arm. He looked down at her, smiling when he saw her hair was starting to go wild again. He liked it better this way; it was more real. He smoothed one of her curls back from her face. "Well, are you going to show me?"
Hermione gave a small laugh, stepping away from Draco towards the door. He resisted the urge to call her back to him; instead he followed her into a small cozy room. "Is it always like this?" he asked. The room looked exactly like what he wished he'd had as a child. Small, but comfortable. There was a couch, a fireplace, a mantle with a clock, and bookcases everywhere, with books teetering in crooked piles where the cases couldn't hold them.
"No, you made it like this," Hermione answered. "It's… well, I don't really know what it is. I needed to hi- well, I wanted someplace safe, and it was here." She shrugged.
Draco's mind was racing. She'd needed someplace to hide? Had that been what she was going to say? "Why did you need a safe place?" he asked, trying to pull her to him. She pushed away, not looking at him. "Hermione?" He caught a glimpse of her eyes, bright with tears before she flipped her hair over her face.
She started to step away, but he grabbed her hand and wouldn't let her go. "Hermione, why did you need a safe place?" he repeated. There was something more here, something deeper than he'd ever suspected. Something that was eating her up from the inside out.
Hermione took a shuddering breath and he guided her down to the couch. "Hermione, you know you can tell me anything," he said, taking her hands in his and pressing them gently to his mouth.
"Can I really, Draco?" she said shakily. "Because, honestly, I'm not certain. This could still be some- some sort of joke or something." Her voice was higher than usual, something that Draco had never heard happen before. The idea that she wasn't sure of him, that she didn't understand… it hurt. How could he make her see?
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Showing you something," he replied, peeling off first his sweater and then his button-down shirt. She only stared, watching as he revealed his chest. Her hand went out to him, and he flinched back. "How did you get…" Her voice petered off into silence, her mouth open in a small 'o' of shock.
"The scars? My father has… interesting ideas on discipline," Draco said drily, running the tip of his finger down a particularly nasty scar that ran over his stomach. He started when he felt Hermione's fingers on him, tracing his scars lightly. A burning was starting in the back of his eyes; he ducked his head so she wouldn't see. "D-don't pity me. I just wanted you to know I'm serious. You can trust me. Nobody- well, nobody else knows about these."
"But how did you keep them hidden, in Quidditch?" she asked, her hands still running across his chest and stomach, finding the puckered skin there and stroking it lightly.
"I wait until everyone else is gone before I shower, and I get into my uniform alone," Draco explained, still not looking at her. He couldn't stand to see pity or disgust on her face. Her hand cupped his chin, tilting it up and he was helpless to resist. Her eyes were clear, there wasn't pity or disgust, only understanding, and sadness. She leaned down, pressing her lips to the scars that crisscrossed his shoulders. Her lips were gentle, and it was like she didn't care that he was mutilated, that he was broken. She pulled away, her fingers at the hem of her own blouse.
"Hermione, you don't-" She shook her head, silencing him as she pulled it off. She had on a camisole underneath, but that wasn't what Draco focused on. Instead, etched just below where her lowest necklines swooped, was the word 'worthless', carved so she could read it. His blood ran hot. "Who did this?" he growled, his eyes burning into her.
Hermione only smiled sadly. "I did," she said softly, tracing the letters. "I'm sure there's a spell- one that will take these away- but… I kept them. As a reminder." Her smile fell away from her face.
She'd done them to herself. She had deliberately taken something –a razor, a knife, it didn't matter what- and carved worthless into her chest. Worthless of all things. The one thing in the world Hermione was not, she saw fit to carry around over her heart forever.
He realized his hands were tracing the letters in the same way hers had run over his marks. "Why?" he finally gasped, astounded that anybody could do something like this to themselves.
"Because. If I knew it and accepted it, nobody could use it against me. Nobody else could hurt me-" Her voice broke off in a sharp squeak. Draco pulled her to him, pressing his face into her hair. Sobs shook her shoulders, the tears slicking his neck and shoulder. "I was hiding from Pansy, and some other girls. They- they think it's fun to do things to me when the teachers can't see or don't care. They spread rumors, make my life miserable. It's why my only real friends are Harry and Ron. Nobody else wants me."
He brought her face away from his neck so he could kiss her cheeks and eyelids, so he could trail his lips across her scars. Finally he looked deep into her eyes. "I want you," he whispered, his voice hoarse but honest. He leaned in to kiss her again.
"But- why would you? I'm broken," she said, pulling back from him. He chuckled darkly.
"Darling," the endearment felt alarmingly natural on his lips, "I'm broken, too. Just not in the ways people look for." She leaned closer to him, and he couldn't move, couldn't breath, couldn't believe for a moment she actually wanted him, of all the people she could have had.
Her lips brushed lightly against his, and he couldn't take it anymore. He pulled her to him, snapping them together like puzzle pieces. Slowly he pushed her back onto the couch until he was lying on top of her, his weight bearing her down into the cushions.
He pressed a kiss to the junction between her neck and shoulder. "You're beautiful." He kissed the hollow of her throat. "You're kind." He kissed her pulse below her jaw. "You're brilliant." She captured his mouth.
"I'm yours," Hermione finished, her body rising up against his as her fingers wove into his hair. He'd made himself vulnerable, made himself open for her. And she'd been able to show him what she hadn't shown anyone- not even her parents. And he didn't reject her, didn't find it terrible or repulsive. In fact… he seemed to still care for her. To want her.
She gasped into his mouth, unable to think. Her hands moved of their own accord across his chest, fingering his scars and feeling him move above her. His scars stirred a certain sadness in her, a regret for not being able to protect him from this, and a desire to help him, to feel him. He was strong, so strong, but still just a bit shattered. She needed that, needed someone who was just as broken as she was to help her put things together. Maybe she could help him too, heal him somehow. More than anything, she just wanted to be with him, to feel his weight over her, to run her fingers through his soft hair, to flash her eyes open and see his gray ones looking back at her.
His fingers teased the edge of her camisole, and she arched against him, wanting more of this feeling, more of their skin pressed together. When his hands didn't move from the hemline, she put hers over them and pushed his hands up over her hips and sides. A groan vibrated between them, and she couldn't tell which of them it came from.
"You're mine," Draco marveled against her lips, and she thrilled at the words. Hermione murmured her assent, losing focus as his mouth trailed down her throat and to her collarbone. He dipped lower, kissing each letter of her brand, his mouth gentle and warm. Suddenly, her chest was tingling, and she looked down in surprise.
Draco gave a wicked smile as her scars melted away into smooth skin. "How did you…?" she asked, and he beamed.
"I do pay attention in class sometimes. Not as much as you, but enough," Draco said, twirling his wand in his hand. Somehow he'd managed to pull it out when she was too focused on his mouth to care where his hands were. "Promise me something?" he asked a moment later, his eyes serious.
How could she refuse him? "Anything," she swore.
"Never do anything like that again," Draco said firmly. She started to protest, but he cut her off. "When somebody hurts you, I want to hurt them. And I can't hurt you. It'd be counterproductive. So, just save me the complex internal struggle, and don't, please, don't do it again."
He was so earnest, so sincere. She felt a lump growing in her throat and tears were starting to cloud her vision. Her hand went to her throat, trying to ease the choking feeling there. "I promise," she said, and he ducked down to kiss away a tear that leaked out.
"I didn't mean to make you cry," he said gently. Hermione laughed wetly, kissing him on the cheek, the jaw, the corner of his mouth.
"You didn't make me cry," Hermione explained. "Well, you did, but not in a bad way. I'm not… used to someone caring enough to fix me." Draco ran the back of his hand across her collarbone, making her shiver.
She'd never felt like this before, she'd never wanted somebody like this, so much that she couldn't imagine time outside of the moments she spent with him. She'd always known the spell to heal herself, but she'd never cared enough to fix herself. She hadn't thought it mattered what she did to herself so long as nobody else knew. Now she had a reason to try.
Draco sat up suddenly, pulling her into his lap. She leaned her head against his chest instinctually, curling towards him while they stared at the fire in the fireplace. "You saved me, you know," Draco said suddenly.
"What do you mean?" she asked, turning her face into his chest, loving how his skin felt against hers.
"This one," Draco commented, taking her hand and moving it over a large scar on his left pectoral, "is from when you beat us all in first year exams. Father said it was shameful, having a- well, you know what he would have called you- having you beat me. I wanted to hate you for it, I tried really hard. I looked for things you were bad at, studied you almost, trying to find a weakness. And you know what?"
"What?" she asked, her voice concerned. She hated the idea that he had been hurt because of her, because of her blood status, of all things.
"I couldn't find one. I expected to see some girl who had no life, who could only read. Instead, I found a girl who was… brave, and strong, and horribly clueless about Quidditch." Here he laughed. "I found someone I could think about when Father was being… Father. Somebody who never seemed to be in pain. Someone… I could look up to."
Her heart hammered in her ears. Draco looked up to her? Saw her as strong? Then she would be strong. She'd be worthy of him looking up to. She tilted up, kissing him softly as the clock in the room chimed. He broke away.
"It's nearly two, we should go to bed," he said. Hermione blew out a frustrated breath. He was right; they had to be responsible. Or at least pretend to be. She slid out of his lap and stood up, trying to act like it didn't leave her feeling cold. Draco either didn't buy it or felt the same chill, because he immediately stood and wrapped his arms around her. He bent down to nuzzle her ear lightly. "Help me find my shirt?" he asked, and Hermione smirked in response.
"Well, that would be counterproductive," she replied, mimicking his earlier tone while she tossed her hair out of her face so she could see him better. He nearly glowed in the firelight, his hair shining like a halo around his face. She slid her arms back around his neck and drew him down, but he pulled back too soon.
"Honestly, Granger, isn't it enough you kept me up all night last night? Now you've got to do it again tonight?" Draco laughed, kissing the sensitive skin right behind her ear.
"As I recall, we were both in bed by one last night," Hermione said, shivering lightly against him.
"Ah but how long did I lie awake afterwards, thinking about you?" Draco answered, kissing her in a way that sent miniature lightning bolts through her body. Draco had stayed up into the night, thinking about her.
"Fair enough. In that case, yes. I'm keeping you up," Hermione answered, pressing her lips to his again. She pulled back first this time, tapping him lightly on the nose with her finger when he leaned in again. "You're right, we should go to bed."
"There's a couch right here. We could stay the night," Draco grumbled. Hermione's pulse stopped, and then picked up at a doubled rate. "N-not like that… not yet… or at all if you didn't want to…" Draco stuttered as Hermione just looked at him evenly. "Not that you'd wa-" Hermione cut him off, kissing him fiercely.
"You talk too much," Hermione said, pushing him down to the couch. Suddenly there was a blanket spread over the back of the couch, Draco grabbed it and flipped it over them both, cocooning her against him. She fell asleep like that, pressed against her Slytherin boy, in a room no one knew about. It was the best sleep she'd had in years.