Author's Note: I'm not sure how happy I am with the first half of this but I really wanted to speed along to the second half. Am I characterising Hermione okay?
While writing this pretty much have been playing "I like Pretending" by IAMX, "Protect Me From What I Want" by Placebo and "School Night" by Ani DiFranco... they really explain the feeling of this fic, if you want to give them a listen :)
At the end of the day Hermione and Draco were sat on the window-seat in their shared common room, chain-smoking. When they had first sat down Hermione had started to tell her a story about a man she had met over the summer but had trailed off, her eyebrows knitting and her eyes turning sad. She looked out of the window, as if she didn't want to look at Draco anymore, her hands shaking slightly as if the nicotine was making her jittery. Or perhaps she was just cold. When they had arrived in the common room she had taken off her cardigan and replaced it with a men's hoodie. It seemed to engulf her and it slipped off her shoulders, almost making her look like a child. He watched her out of the corner of his eyes, whilst pretending to be lost in his thoughts. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun and her eyeliner was smudged to a grey around her eyes, he itched to take a picture of her, sitting with smoke curling around her face. As he said this, she began to move towards him; to him it felt like it was happening in slow-motion. She placed her cigarette in the ashtray they had placed on the windowsill and did the same to his. She took a shallow breath and kissed him. Without thought he began to kiss her back, pushing her into the corner of the window-seat and tangling his hands in her hair, she stroked the hair on the base of his neck in circular motions, making him shiver. Her lips seemed to be shaking and she tasted like cigarettes and bubble-gum. After a few moments the kisses became more urgent and she pulled her hoodie off, making her t-shirt ride-up. He did the same and immediately her hands had inched up the back of his t-shirt. He began to move his hands up her top but froze. He looked her in the eye. "Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked, feeling like an idiot for asking. She nodded, and he pulled her t-shirt off. His breathing became ragged as they both moved off the window-seat and went into her bedroom, with their hands all over each other and her hands removing his t-shirt. They both almost fell onto the bed and Draco began to place tiny kisses on her neck, following her veins down to her chest. He could feel her heart beating rapidly as she removed her bra.
A few minutes later Hermione felt like she was melting, like she was pretending as she lay bucking her hips into Draco's on her unmade bed. Every pulse-point in her body seemed to be on fire, her heart seemed to be beating in her throat. She dug her nails into his bare back, hard enough to draw blood, needing it to end, she couldn't stay like this, and her body feeling like it would burst. It ended with a mutual shudder of pleasure and she let go of his back. He pushed her matted and sweaty hair out of her face and kissed her, before sliding out of her and lying next to her. They looked at each other, wordless. She couldn't find the words to express how she felt, to verbalize the million or so thoughts careening around her head. Her thoughts overwhelmed her and she needed to get out of the room, to move away from him. She pulled her t-shirt over her head and put on her underwear.
"Where're you going?" Draco asked, looking concerned.
"I can't… I can't do this." She whispered as she all but ran out of the room. She went back to the window seat and pulled her hoodie back on; she lit a cigarette and blew smoke across the room, angry at herself. Draco walked towards her, only wearing his boxers. He sat down next to her and touched her arm. She stiffened immediately and he bought his hand back as if burnt.
"Didn't you want to?" He asked, after searching her face for a moment. She bit her lip and took a drag of her cigarette before responding.
"I just can't…" She started but stopped herself.
"Can't what?"
"I can't do this, not with someone I know. Not with someone I see everyday." She said.
"Why?" He asked, not able to understand.
"I can't get close to somebody… Not somebody in real life. Somebody who cares."
"Why not?" He persisted.
"Because I can't…. Because I can't pretend with you. Because I have to pretend with you. Because I'll never be able to be honest with you, not without you trying to do something about it." Tears welled in her eyes.
"What can't you be honest about?"
"I like pretending… I can pretend I'm a normal girl with strangers." She shook her head and her lip began to shake.
"Hermione, I know." Draco said. She silently screamed inside, how had he found anything out? What was he planning on doing with his knowledge? She resisted the urge to run out of the room and looked up at him, trying to seem innocent.
"Know what?"
"I know about everything. I know that you barely eat, that you were crying in the shower this morning. I know that you hurt yourself." Instinctively she sank away from him, cradling her left wrist. He reached out and took it.
"Don't." She whispered, but he took the wrist into his lap and removed the bracelets from it. She didn't even flinch when one of the cotton bracelets ripped open the newest wound. She wasn't thinking, just shaking as he took them off. Her blood was pumping in her head and tears began to fall out of her eyes as he traced the wounds and scars with his fingers. Wordlessly, he bent down and planted a kiss over the marks. He let go of her wrist and she cradled it once again, still not able to think. He rose and walked over to the couch, picking up his wand he muttered a spell, pointing it at his skin. Immediately there were marks all over his forearms and chest. She breathed in sharply and walked over to him, tracing the deepest marks on his chest.
"My dad did that." He said, looking here in the eyes. "He cruciod me just before he was arrested."
"Why?" She whispered.
"I tried to stop him from doing the same to my mum. She refused to offer me to Voldemort to atone for his betrayals." She knew better than to question him further. She traced over the marks on his arms.
"Those were self-inflicted." He said, sadly. She stepped away to him and retrieved her own wand, repeating the same charm he had she held it over her body, removing her hoodie afterwards.
Draco breathed inwards, sharply. Most of her body seemed to have been marked, her face seeming to be the only place unmarred. She lifted up her t-shirt and he could see more wounds on her ribs and stomach. It seemed that she had used countless methods of hurting herself. He could see burns, cuts and deep bruises on the backs of her hands. He could also see two vertical scars cutting up the veins in each of her wrists.
"You tried to…" He trailed off. She looked down at them sadly.
"Last summer," she started. "I did it at a boyfriend's flat. He found me in the bathroom, unconscious. He called an ambulance and they took me to hospital. After I was stitched up I obliviated him and the doctors and left." She said it in a voice so matter-of-fact that he
wanted to cry.
"Does anyone," he started.
"Nobody knows." She answered him. He worked up the courage to try to reason with her again.
"You don't need to pretend." He said, holding onto her.
"Yes I do… I like pretending." She said, repeating herself. With her eyes wide and the marks covering her pale skin she looked like a beat-up child. Her bottom lip was sticking out and her make-up was all but rubbed away. He wanted to kill her friends. He wanted to go and get them and show them what she really looked like, what they hadn't noticed she was doing to herself. She seemed to sense what he was thinking.
"It's not their fault." She said sadly. "They've tried to talk to me before, tried to ask me what's wrong when I can't be in the same room as other people. I'm good at pretending."
"But they're supposed to be your best friends." He argued. She changed the subject.
"Do you ever feel like that? Like no matter what you're doing, how much fun you're having, you're holding in tears and sobs. So much that you can't breathe?" She asked. He thought about it for a moment.
"Yes." He answered, trying to keep his voice even. She smiled, looking hopeful.
"And do you long for someone to be touching you, to be next to you, but stiffen every time someone comes close?"
"Yes." Her eyes widened and he was torn between wanting to cry for her and wanting to kiss her. Her lips moved silently before she asked another question.
"How can you stand it?" She said, her eyes wet with tears. "How can you stop yourself from ripping your body apart?"
"I just don't go that far… I can control it." He replied. Could he control it? He couldn't count the number of times he had considered throwing himself off his broom during a Quidditch match, feeling his body get ready to jump. Or times when he felt the need to rip all of his veins apart, stopping himself by clenching his fists so hard that his fingernails left gashes in the palms of his hands.
