Hermione, the real and true Hermione, lay beneath the sumptuous coverlets and shivered. It seemed that no matter what she did these days she was always cold. An aftereffect of the possession she supposed. She sighed and kicked off the warm covers and pushed herself off the soft bed and landed softly onto the floor. She reached for a robe, slid on her slippers and sauntered to the door. She looked about and yelped as a house elf nearly barreled into her.
"Master Draco says miss is not to strain herself," it parroted and Hermione sighed.
"I'm fine, really I am. Where is—Draco by the way?"
"He is in the study miss."
"Could you take me there?"
The house elf nodded amicably and happily led Hermione down the cavernous hall. As they padded towards their destination, Hermione wondered at the irony of her current situation. She had never imagined she'd ever come back to Malfoy Manor, and as a guest no less. She struggled with the onslaught of violent memories of being tortured and humiliated, one tumbling on top of the other and was startled when the house elf stopped abruptly and pulled her into the small, and surprisingly cozy study.
"Thank you—erm-," Hermione sputtered and the house elf curtsied.
"My name is Skippy ma'am."
"Skippy?," Hermione's brows knit together in confusion and it nodded so hard that the bow on its head fell forward.
"Like the peanut butter miss. I love peanut butter," with that declaration it meandered aimlessly away and down into the darkened hall before disappearing.
Hermione traipsed into the warm room and faltered slightly when she saw Draco, his eyes racing studiously across the page of a book and his hair swept casually and errantly across his face and in his eye. Every few seconds or so, he'd reach up to pull it back in irritation and his free hand tapped out an errant staccato beat as he read.
"Draco," she began and he jumped, startled.
"Hermione," he remarked, "You're up and about."
"I couldn't stay in bed all day."
They stared at each other a moment in tense silence and then Draco stood and sighed.
"I—I'm glad you're feeling better."
"Yes," she grinned shyly, "I am."
Draco came around the desk and sat in on the small sofa nearby. He indicated to Hermione to take a seat and slid onto the soft cushions, not quite sure what to say.
The moment stretched thin and then she spoke.
"You—loved me."
"Yes," Draco answered and looked away before fixing a searing gaze onto her face and Hermione looked down, her cheeks flaming.
"Do you—still-,"
"Yes," he answered without pause and Hermione gasped. She fretted with the ties on her robe and then slowly looked up to the man she had thought she had known. Her brows knit together in confusion and she sighed.
"When did you—when did you know you loved me?,"
"Fifth year. It began around the time you and I had to study together for the O.W.L.S. as punishment for that stupid duel in the common room,"
Hermione groaned, "Ugh. It was either that or detention, and I'd already decided that detention wouldn't do if I were to be head girl and Harry thought it was so funny when I hexed you-,"
"I'm babbling," Hermione stated and then paused. The silence stretched out once more, but the tension had eased a bit.
Draco grinned softly and his eyes lit up in a way Hermione had never seen before.
"You do that when you're nervous you know."
Hermione nodded, and Draco moved closer, "You don't have to be nervous around me Hermione. I won't hurt you. I'll never hurt you."
She nodded again and then looked down at the tips of her slippers.
"If you stare a hole into the floor Hermione I may have to charge you for repairs," he quipped and she smiled at the familiar cocky smirk that lazed upon his face.
"Still an arrogant git I see," she teased and he shrugged before brushing his fingers across her hand ever so lightly.
Hermione drew in a shaky breath and tried to focus her thoughts, which had scattered the moment Draco had touched her.
"What happened to you after I escaped?"
A far away expression crossed Draco's face and he grimaced. His face darkened as an onslaught of memories tore into him and he bit back a wave of old fear and instead stiffened with anger.
"I was punished."
Hermione's heart constricted in her chest. His terse reply was filled with the expanse of the nightmarish possibilities she knew only those in league with Voldemort could force one to suffer. She watched as his face tensed and muscles flexed angrily in his jaw and she shuddered. She couldn't—didn't—want to know what had happened. She didn't want to know what manner of torture had been visited upon him, and yet—she owed him this. She owed him this small, tiny thing.
"How did they—what did they-," she stammered and he looked down a moment, his body still and Hermione tensed. She wondered if it was her fault, after all it was she who had run. And she hadn't looked back. She had run and didn't think of what could befall him, her only thoughts being of Harry and Ron at the time. It was selfish really. He hadn't wanted to be a death eater, no matter how she had tried justifying it to herself later on, and it wasn't his fault. She swallowed the lump in her throat and fought the sting of hot tears building inside her. She needed to know, to be made aware of every little horrible thing he had endured for her sake. She owed him this.
Her hands bunched into fists as he slowly, and torturously unbuttoned his crisp shirt. Once it was unbuttoned he slipped it off his shoulders and turned away from Hermione.
She gasped. His muscular back was marred by a criss-cross of old burns, scars and ugly contusions. His flesh was mottled in some places, as if he'd been stabbed over and over again, yet his flesh was eerily smooth in other areas, and Hermione surmised it had probably had been peeled away with dark magic only to be regrown so the process could begin again. She studied the ugly line of flesh and tried hard to contain her horror. He had suffered, and he had done so, for her.
He quickly slipped his shirt back onto his frame, as if he was ashamed and Hermione stilled his hands as they worked feverishly to button.
"Draco," Hermione spoke, her tone soft and gently, "Don't-,"
He tried to pull away and she touched pulled his hands into her own.
"You shouldn't be ashamed," she told him, her eyes brimming with tears
He avoided her gaze and she delicately placed her hands on his cheeks, and pulled his gaze toward her own.
"Thank you Draco," she voiced, the tears that had threatened to fall, were now sliding across her cheeks.
"Thank you," she repeated and then slowly, languidly moved herself forward before letting her lips crashed passionately into his own.
Surprised, he stiffened at first, then responded as years of want and desire flowed from deep within him into the sweetness of her mouth. Hermione didn't know how long they sat like that, exploring each other, caressing with tongues and the mingling of breaths. When she finally pulled away, the artifice, the façade upon his face had melted for a moment; and his expression was naked and exposed. What Hermione saw there made her weak and her breath caught in her throat.
"I—should go," she announced and Draco nodded. She stood, looking back at him once before slipping out the door and into the hall. Once there, she took in a deep breath and sauntered back to her room, her emotions a tangle of confusion and fear. Draco Malfoy loved her. Merlin help her, but though she didn't feel the same way—at least she didn't think she did—she could feel a spark, an ember inside her ignite, lighting up the darkness that had been growing inside her.