I Saw
"With the look in your eyes,
ike you could save me."
Matt Nathanson

February 3rd, 2002

"Granger?"

"Mm."

"…Have you ever tried to kill yourself?"

She rolled over on the bed. Yesterday was a bad day. Every time she closed her eyes, visions appeared against her eyelids, images of her parent's torture and death, traces of pain left over from the scars that formed beneath her skin, Ron's screams of agony as they rebounded about the Manor. In the end, she ended up leaving the door unlocked when Draco left, not sure if she would be able to open the door for him the next morning. He'd reprimanded it for her after he came in, telling her that Deatheaters could have gotten around the charms on the building and barged straight through the door, but his voice was weak and she'd ignored him, curling her arms around her pillow and trying not to blink for as long as possible. Eventually he gave up, sliding onto the bed beside her with hands crossed behind his head.

"Why do you ask?" Hermione said quietly.

"I've talked to a Healer about that curse Bellatrix put on you. I was just wondering."

She was quiet for a while. "A few times."

There was the sound of air whistling through teeth in a gasp. "But you never seriously…"

"Almost. A few times."

"Granger." She could tell by his tone that he wanted her to turn around. Reluctantly, she complied.

Draco was turned to face her on his side, silvery hair splayed across one of her pillows. He reached out and took both of her hands in his, skin hot against her own. She was suddenly quite aware of how dry her hands were. "Don't you ever try and kill yourself. Ever. Promise me you'll never kill yourself again."

The look in his eyes, inexplicably intense. They were the colour of mercury, and shone just as bright. Hermione found herself staring at them for a while before she found her voice. "I promise," she whispered.

"Good," he replied, but didn't let go of her hands for quite some time.

' ' '

June 16th, 2001

Bloody hell. He just went up to her and pulled her into his bloody lap. Did you see that, Harry?

Of course I did. I'm not blind.

Well—

I know, Seamus. It was odd.

Ha, that's an understatement. How can you sound so calm?

Because I sort of guessed already.

Guessed what?

That Malfoy…

Fancied Hermione?

I guess you could say that.

How? The he hated her with all his guts. How could he ever consider—

I think… I think he needs her forgiveness or something.

What? A Malfoy, asking for forgiveness?

I know. It's really strange. But he said something, that day I met him at that hotel. I think that's what he meant.

Poor Ron is no doubt rolling in his grave right now.

No, Ron would understand, though it would take a long time. Hermione needs someone right now, and unfortunately, it's not me.

And you think it's Malfoy?

Anything's possible at this point, Seamus.

…

You know, I'm about as deaf as Potter is blind.

So we've noticed, Malfoy.

' ' '

January 21st to February 5th, 2002

It started with the kitchen. In there, he made sure that she always had food. He stockpiled her fridge full of fresh cheese and eggs and milk every week or so, and filled her pantry with crisps and cereal and bread. Hermione didn't mind at first, but then he started bringing in the ice cream.

"What the hell is that for?" she said.

"You love ice cream, Granger," Draco had answered softly. "Mint-chocolate-chip."

"It's only going to go to waste. I'm not going to eat it," she told him stubbornly. "I refuse to."

He then sighed. "I can't make you do anything."

Draco also cleaned up the counters, made sure there was no dust lingering on their smooth surfaces, and wiped up the sink every time he cooked. She watched him the whole time, from the couch, eyes trained on his every move. Hermione couldn't remember if she ever put anything important in the multitude of drawers and cabinets that lined the kitchen area, but just in case, she watched him.

Next, he started on the family room. He began by taking all the blankets lying around the couches, which probably hadn't been cleaned in months and months, and took them all to the laundry-machines in the basement of the building. When he came back, they smelled fresh and new. One had been Ron's, and it no longer smelled like him when it came back.

She cut out his name on her cheek beside her nose with a razor that night.

Draco yelled at her when he came the next morning.

She didn't give a fuck.

It was obvious he was more scared than angry.

While she was taking her naps he alphabetized her books by author, dusting the shelves as he went, clearing away the cobwebs and killing all the spiders with his shoes. Draco hated the little buggers, too.

It reminded her so much of Ron, and it hurt so goddamn badly that she picked at the scabs on her face and refused Draco's healing spells, making sure she would get a scar. So every time she looked in the mirror, "Ron" would be staring back at her.

After that he worked on vacuuming, carefully avoiding anything other than the sofa and the carpet, just in case he managed to catch something else that would make her hurt herself again. Then he got to work on the coffee table, taking out the stains in the wood from when she'd place her glass on it and didn't care enough to use a coaster, cleaning it up quite nicely so that it shined when the sun rose every morning and the sunlight filtered through the window.

He did this all without magic, using his own hands or muggle technology. Perhaps he thought he was going to impress her, make her see that he didn't live by his old prejudice and wasn't a lazy, bigoted aristocrat anymore. Perhaps it worked.

But just a little.

' ' '

July 2001

Ginny?

Mm?

Did I wake you up?

Only a little.

I'm sorry I haven't come home too much.

It's okay. Hermione needs you.

Not me. I'm not enough.

Harry—

No, it's true. I need to find her someone else.

No one loves her more than you do, excluding Ron, of course.

I don't think it's enough.

' ' '

February 6th, 2002

Every once in a while he would do something so utterly surprising, so utterly beautiful, that Hermione could do nothing but allow herself to feel happy.

And so it was on one strangely sunny day in late January. There were Draco's three raps on the door, and Hermione sat up, simply settled on the edge of her bed before she finally got to her feet and walked towards the former-Slytherin.

"Quick, Granger, I've got a surprise for you," was the call from the other side of the door.

A single brow rose high towards her forehead as she pulled open the door, and her confusion increased as she saw nothing was held in his hand. "What is it?"

"Not even going to let me in?" he said teasingly.

She quickly stepped aside, curiosity piqued. "Well?"

Draco reached into his pocket as Hermione took her seat on the couch. "For you."

He leaned towards her in a sort of bow and opened his fist, revealing a gorgeous, shiny black piano that was barely the size of his fingernail. She gaped at it, gaze soft. It really was a gorgeous piece, she couldn't imagine how much concentration it would have taken to have crafted this. "Where would you like it?"

The brunette shrugged. "The bookshelf?"

The blonde chuckled. "How about near the window there?"

She stared at him. "Right in the middle, on the floor?"

"Yep." Draco walked over towards the open stretch of floor and set the miniature grand in the direct centre. "Ready?"

"For what?"

"You'll see now…" And then he brandished his wand and tapped the top of the piano, stepping back quickly.

Right before their very eyes, the little model began to grow, faster and faster until with a slight pop! it stopped, a full-size, gloriously gleaming grand piano.

Hermione gawked at it in awe.

"It's lovely, Malfoy," she breathed.

"Do you still know how to play?"

"I haven't… not since Hogwarts…"

"Would you like me to?"

She nodded slowly.

The former-Slytherin walked over the piano, sat down on the bench, and played.

' ' '

June 2001

We never should have let him bring that damn piano in the house.

It's really not that bad, Seamus.

You're not the one with his bedroom right above yours. He bangs on it all night, Harry, I don't understand how he calls that music.

Well I think it's quite beautiful.

…No one asked you Ginny.

You didn't have to.

Shut it for a minute, you two. He's started again.

' ' '

February 10th, 2002

It was on a cold, rainy February night when things started to really change. The clock struck ten in the kitchen and yet Draco was still in the flat, having not yet left.

He didn't even ask, which probably would have pissed her off a lot more if she had felt like yelling at him that night. But seeing as that wasn't the case she let it go, climbed into bed, and closed her eyes, ignoring the dip in the mattress he made as he climbed in beside her, less than a foot apart. She could feel the heat of his body, pulsing steadily from his splayed form to her curled one.

It had been an okay day, better than most, but far from her best. When she her eyelids drooped to a close, she wasn't forced to relive those distressing events in Malfoy Manor, which was a welcome change from the past few days.

Sleep settled in slowly, embracing her like a long-lost friend, enveloping her in a foreign sort of warmth that she hadn't felt in weeks. Her mind was not empty, but at the same time it was not filled with memories and night-terrors that plagued her otherwise. For the first time since Ron's death, Hermione Granger had dreams, not nightmares.

And it started with a mirror. A beautiful mirror, tall and long, decorated with a heavy gold frame, dulled with age yet still as regal and powerful as it no-doubt looked in its youth. The surface of the glass was muddied with misty clouds and smudges—Hermione could not catch her reflection, nor did she think she was meant to. Not entirely, at least.

There was a slam of a door from behind her and she whipped around in alarm. Coming into the room was Draco Malfoy, looking quite obviously troubled. He seemed not to be able to see her, and Hermione did not attempt to make her presence known. She simply stepped out of the way when the former-Slytherin approached the mirror.

As he stood in front of it he mumbled under his breath, "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi," and she finally understood she was looking at the famous Mirror of Erised.

I show not you face, but your heart's desire.

What will Malfoy see? Hermione wondered. She knew that in real life she would never get a glimpse of his vision in the mirror—only her own—but her dream seemed to ignore this fact and she saw it anyway.

At first, it was just his reflection. His face, eyebrows drawn tight on his forehead and lips pursed impatiently. But slowly an image began to form on the cool surface of the mirror.

What is that? she wondered. It appeared to be… a girl! A girl was walking up to him from behind. And it was… it was her! A much younger-looking, healthier Hermione Granger approached Mirror-Draco, her skin smooth and creamy, her cheeks slightly rosy, her eyes alight with life and vitality. But most-noticeably was the lack of scars stretching over her face and arms and neck, especially the one that spelt out Ron that was currently dashed across her cheek.

The Draco in the mirror turned around to face Mirror-Hermione, and he looked at her like she was the only thing that would possibly exist in the world, as if he would never care for anything but her as long as he lived, as if every breath he drew was simply to ensure a few more moments in her presence. It was a gorgeous look, as his eyes glowed and his face softened and you could practically hear his heart singing, its vibrato ringing out from underneath his chest. Ron had looked at me like that, Hermione thought. As I had, him. A wave of fresh pain and heartbreak crested over her heart.

A wide grin spread across Mirror-Draco's face to accompany the lovely look, and Mirror-Hermione smiled back, warm and gentle, and the two embraced, arms tight around each other as if their very lives depended on it. The blonde whispered something into her ear, and she giggled, craning her neck to whisper something back. The real Hermione could hear nothing in the mirror, but it was quite evident what her Erised-doppelganger had whispered.

I love you.

Three beautiful little words that she would never would ever have guessed would pass through her lips to Draco Malfoy's waiting ears.

It's just a dream, Hermione thought to herself. It's just a dream. But that didn't stop the tears that emerged from the corner of her eyes and trailed down her cheeks, which doubled in number and size as Mirror-Hermione placed the chastest, simplest, most beautiful of kisses on Mirror-Draco's lips, which by then they seemed liable to break any moment, so wide was his grin.

But all the while, Dream-Draco, face screwed up in some unbearable agony and hands clenched to angst-ridden fists, fell to his knees in front of the mirror and slammed his palms against the glass, a web of cracks exploding from the point of contact. A sob emanated low and tortured from somewhere deep in his throat. And the last thing Hermione saw before she woke his blood, falling like raindrops against the fragmented mirror-glass.

"Good morning, Granger," Draco whispered.

Hermione opened her eyes to find him lying across the bed on his side, eyes trained on her and a small smile playing with the corner of his lips. She yawned and stretched, arms V'd and mouth open wide. "Good morning, Malfoy," she said, curling again.

"How was your sleep?"

She remembered her dream—it came back in a flash, raw and bright in her memory. For a brief moment she wondered if it had any truth in it, but doubted it instantly. There was no way… The world was lucky enough to get them away from the other's throat… she pushed the dream aside, back in the cavern of her brain-box, perhaps for a rainy day.

"Good," Hermione replied simply.

"Good," he said, and grinned, one so much like the one in her dream she nearly smiled back.

A/N:

Hello lovelies! I'm sorry for the delay, I promise I will never update with more than a week in between ever again. I'm quite a few chapters ahead and have a whopping 79 pages of this story already written up, which is insane or me considering I've never written much more than a one-shot before. If you're a bit confused with the flashbacks, especially the conversations, please PM me and I'll be sure to explain who's talking to whom. This is sort of a bridge chapter, with no real important plot points, except for maybe the Erised bit at the end. I hope you enjoyed it anyway.

Thanks for reading this far and to my reviewers/alerters/favouritiers as well! I reply to every single reviewer but I barely ever get to say thanks to a favouritiers or alerters, so I apologize now for that. Also, I know it is definitely not your job as a reader to catch my mistakes, but if you see any spelling or conventions errors it would be lovely if you put it in a review or PM'd me! ~Gen