Chapter Ten
Scattered Scars

Neville Longbottom waited patiently on the couch for the return of his mysterious roommate. She had been coming and going at all hours of the day and night and a part of him was starting to wonder if he should be concerned. He knew she was a private person by nature, but she had always confided her deepest thoughts with him. After skirting around him for days, Neville finally decided to corner her the minute she flooed in.

The fireplace roared with an emerald green puff of smoke and a weary Hermione tumbled out. She dusted herself off absently, her eyes not yet having noticed the grim boy perched on the couch before her. With a heavy sigh, the witch raised her head and jumped in fright upon realizing she wasn't alone.

"Neville! Merlin, you scared me!" she exclaimed with a breathy laugh. Upon examination, she appeared tired to him, but her eyes were bright and her smile genuine.

He sat back, tension slowly easing out of his hunched shoulders, and offered an apology. "I'm sorry. It's just I felt like I had to make sure I didn't miss you."

Hermione knotted her eyebrows in a show of confusion as she collapsed into a heap in the comfy chair across from him. "What do you mean?"

"It's just that I haven't seen much more than the back of your head these past few days. You're always running off somewhere," Neville explained, unable to keep the tone of worry out of his voice. From their letters, he knew she hated being shown any kind of pity, and he certainly didn't want to offend her. "What are you up to these days?"

He didn't miss the faintest blush that colored her cheeks, but he had the tact not to mention it.

"I've got a new project I'm working on, is all," she told him, a rare twinkle in her eye that could only suggest it was something so much more. "It's very time consuming…and frustrating…and scary. But it's something I need to see through to the end, I think."

"But you're okay?"

The young witch and wizard sat in a companionable quiet for a moment or two as she mulled his answer over. During their exchange of letters since the final battle, both had admitted to hating such a question. The people who asked it of them never wanted to hear the truth of how very not okay they all were at the end of the war. Hermione and Neville had promised that whenever they asked each other that question, it would be answered with nothing but the bluntest, bare-bones truth.

"I think I will be," Hermione finally answered with a thoughtful nod. "I can't say that everything is perfect. There is still a lot that I'm struggling with. I feel lost most of the time. But with this, I'm scared but I've got a sense of direction again. Everything else I've been working on has just been to distract me. I tried to tell myself it wasn't, but it's the truth. This…project-I think it's more than that. I think it's starting to make me have hope again."

Neville smiled sadly. "I still wake up in a right state sometimes reaching for the sword. The last I remember are yellow eyes. "

"I still have nightmares too. I just see her above me," Hermione said with a shudder. "But I'm handling it well enough, I suppose."

"Quite a mess, us lot," Neville said with a derisive snort. Hermione nodded in agreement. "We'll get there someday."

"Are you ready to start teaching?" Hermione wondered kindly, determined to cheer up their conversation. Her heart melted when she witnessed the newly somber man transform into his bashful schoolboy self at the question. "What? Don't tell me you're nervous!"

Neville ran his hands over his face, rough white scars forming a crosspatch design across the tops of his knuckles. She knew he hated them passionately and she frowned at the disgusted look he was giving them.

"I'm not scared, but I am anxious about it. I mean, what do I know about teaching? I was the worst wizard in our class for years! I get lucky with one snake and everyone thinks I'm a legend! They're in for such a disappointment. They're expecting some snake slaying warrior but all they're getting is a scarred clumsy oaf!" Neville fretted, hands tugging roughly through his dark hair. He buried his face in hands and let out a shuddering sigh.

Hermione leapt out of her seat and went to stand in front of the trouble young man. He groaned irritably when she pulled his hands away from his face. "Come on you, with me," she commanded forcefully. Reminded of the fiercely determined witch of their early youth, Neville reluctantly followed her down the hall.

"Hermione, what are we doing here?" he questioned once she stopped them in the bathroom. He knew better than to take back his admission, but he was wishing he could. There was no telling what lengths Hermione would go to in order to make him see reason. But some days he just didn't want to see reason. Those were the days he needed someone like Hermione the most.

"Take off your shirt," she demanded, arms crossed tightly in front of her, scowl on her face.

Neville's cheeks flushed a brilliant crimson and he took a step back, spluttering, "W-what? No, what are you-"

He squawked and fussed as Hermione determinedly yanked his pale blue shirt over his head.

"I feel like a child!" he whined, crossing his arms in an uncomfortable huff as he stood bare chested in front of his childhood friend. "What exactly was the point of you roughly stripping me?"

"Look!" Hermione directed calmly but seriously. He followed the direction of her pointed finger and scowled when his eyes reached his reflection in the mirror.

"Hermione, I don't want to look at that," he sighed distastefully. His pale skin was marred with the discoloration of a haphazard array of scars. Some were mostly faded, but there was no small amount of ever angry pink skin, burned and destroyed by dark spells. There were small, thin slices mixed in with heavy, jagged marks. "It's disgusting. I don't see what this is supposed to be doing for me. Hardly a confidence booster."

"Neville Longbottom, you look at those scars and tell me you aren't a snake slaying warrior," Hermione said fiercely, her eyes burning. He rolled his eyes, but she caught him off before he could degrade himself again. "You didn't get these scars because you were a clumsy oaf. You got these scars because you stood up for what was right, Neville. You were just a kid and you stood up to ruthless Death Eaters. You got them because you refused to let anyone else have them. What you did at Hogwarts while we were on the run was unbelievable. Some might call it stupid, but then, they're probably not from Gryffindor. You are one of the bravest people I know, Neville. And if you think for one moment that those kids won't adore you, you're mental! There are visible marks on you that show just how fiercely you care for people. Those kids will see them and have undeniable proof that you'll be there for them no matter what."

Neville found it hard to look her in the eye. It was hard admitting defeat to Hermione. Her logic was always so frustratingly sound. "Couldn't let me wallow for even a minute there, could you?" he teased halfheartedly with a shake of his head.

Her intense gaze softened into a small smile. "Not a chance," she said with a laugh. "And besides, the scars are good for something else, too."

Neville finally met her eyes, a somewhat wary expression on his face after he notice her smirk.

"A lot of women just love a man with scars. I know Hannah told me they were sexy."

The boy's face flamed red and he choked out a startled squeak. "G-give me my shirt, woman," he stammered before fleeing the room. Hermione's hearty laughter chased him out.

"I'm not so sure he's going to like this," Hermione warned gently. She stood shoulder to shoulder with Harry outside Draco's room. He had arrived shortly before on strictly Auror business. There were no words for the amount of relief she felt that it was Harry his department had sent to do this.

"He's going to have to if he wants some answers," Harry said grimly. Hermione nodded her assent and pushed open the door.

After so many weeks of her presence, Draco seemed to know it was her the moment she stepped inside. A small smile graced his lips as he turned his head toward her. She grinned in an automatic response despite knowing he couldn't see it. Shyly, she approached him, uncertain how to act knowing that Harry was watching her every move with his ever boyish curiosity.

"Hello, there. You're looking stronger today. I spoke with Lizzie this morning and she told me you could have the day off. She said you didn't have to hear her voice for a whole 24 hours," Hermione informed him with a teasing chuckle. The boy appeared to be pleased until he sensed an impending but. He frowned warily and raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Ever the trusting lout, you are," she sighed dramatically.

She couldn't deny that he was smart, though. Hermione hadn't announced Harry's presence yet, but Draco seemed to know they weren't alone. He made no move to grab her hand, instead crossing his arms defiantly.

"Fine. You're right. There's a reason she's letting you off easy," she said, looking to Harry uncertainly. He nodded seriously, but his eyes were soft as he recognized her nervous tone. "Draco, I have a friend here. Now, he is an Auror, and he is here on official business…"

Draco made a sour face and inched away from her, his displeasure clear.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Hermione continued. "He's an old school friend, though. I would trust him with my life." Rather thoughtfully, she added gently, "In fact, I actually have. And he's always come through. He is not here to treat you like a science experiment like the others. He just wants to help, okay?"

Draco's fists were clenched tightly, his face twisted into a familiar scowl.

"There is a new spell that the Ministry has been working on. If you accept, my friend will use it on you. It is meant to uproot even the most expertly buried memories. It doesn't always work, but it isn't harmful. You won't feel a thing no matter if it works or not," Hermione explained slowly, ensuring that he understood. "He wants to help you know what happened. Will you let him?"

As she took the blonde boy in, she knew better than to think him angry. She could see past his irritable expression and find the worry behind it. Her heart squeezed uncomfortably as witnessed the fear behind his unseeing eyes. With a glance at Harry, she slowly reached forward to take his hand. He didn't stop her.

"Do you trust me?" Hermione questioned.

Draco's piercing blue eyes caught hers forcefully, and even though she knew they couldn't see her, she still felt stripped bare by their intensity. "Trust you? You won't even tell me your real name."

Hermione hung her head shamefully. "You're right," she said aloud. Harry watched in confusion as his friend became visibly upset. "You're right. And I know that's wrong. I'm sorry."

Hermione met Harry's concerned emerald eyes before asking again. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"He says he'll do it."

"What do you need for this?" Hermione wondered as Harry sorted through his worn leather case. He shuffled through some parchment in search of something. The raven haired boy pulled a crisp paper out from the depths of his messy bag and set it on the table before him.

"Just this paper work. We need to record the results as thoroughly as possible with this new spell," Harry said. "It's actually quite simple in practice."

Putting on a determined face, the Boy-Who-Lived turned toward Draco Malfoy, wand in his hand.

Harry shook his head, his shoulders tense. Draco sat rigidly on his bed, his face grim, eyes shut tight.

Hermione's heart cried out for them both. The last time Harry turned a wand to the blonde, he nearly killed him. And Draco…she didn't even know.

She stepped up behind Harry and placed a gentle hand on the small of his back. He turned to her in surprise but offered a grateful smile when he saw her encouraging face. She gestured for him to wait a moment as she walked over to Draco.

"Okay. My friend is going to-"

"You won't tell me his name? Why?" Draco questioned, cutting her off. She cursed him for noticing that.

"I don't think you'd let him help if you knew who he was. But he can and will help you. I swear that."

Draco pulled his hand away.

Harry pulled out his wand.

Hermione pulled the curtain shut.

"Harry! Harry, what is it?" Hermione called frantically, chasing her crazed friend out of the room. She shot a last glance at Draco on the bed. He was still sitting on his own and he let his head fall into his hands. Torn, she decided he seemed well enough and took off after Harry.

She found the Auror around the corner, crouched over, his arm leaning against the wall to support himself. The motherly concern she felt for Harry and Ron during their year on the run came back to her full force as she rushed to his side. She slid a comforting hand across his back, resting it on his shoulder.

"Harry? What's wrong? Are you alright?" she demanded in what the boys used to refer to as her 'mother bear' tone.

The boy waved her off, eventually standing shakily. She carefully guided him to a nearby waiting bench. A few concerned healers tried to approach them, but she sent them off.

"Tell me. What happened?"

Harry shook his head and ran his fingers through his raven locks, returning it to the glorious mess he wore as a boy. "Everything. Nothing."

"What do you mean?"

"His mind is a mess. I've never seen anything like it before," Harry admitted, his voice shaken. "It was too much."

"Was he Imperioed? Obliviated?" Hermione found herself needing to know. Ever since she had felt the sheer desperation of Draco Malfoy's magic calling out to her, she had been waiting for answers. And judging by the ever steady Harry Potter's frazzled state, the answers he had weren't good.

"Yes," Harry said, "And also no."

Hermione's brow knotted in confusion. "Wh-what does that mean?"

"I-I honestly have no idea. It doesn't make any sense at all," Harry began. "At first, there was nothing. I sifted through his early memories and then nothing. Just a wall. Then, there were a few. But they were so faint. Nothing made sense. They were so disjointed. Some of them are real, but it was hard to sort them out from the fake memories. There were too many. And then there were some blurry ones that must have been under the Imperius.

"It was too much. Just utter chaos. Whoever did this wanted no risk of anyone recovering his memories. But the few left behind…it's like whoever did this couldn't decide what the best way to do that was. It's like they tried out every spell they could think of before they found something that worked," the wizard said with a distraught shake of the head. He looked to Hermione with tearful eyes. "Hermione, it was horrible."

Hermione threw her arms around her best friend and pulled him close. Arms slowly slid their way around her waist before locking on her firmly.

"Hermione, I couldn't imagine have that going on in my head all the time. It's a blessing that he can't remember anything. It's better that it's so deeply buried for him."

She ran her fingers through his hair as he pulled out of her grasp. "Harry…what did you see?"

But he simply shook his head.

"Tell me?"

"I can't," he said regrettably. "None of it makes enough sense. Not yet. But I will do my absolute best to figure it out."

Rising to his feet, Harry offered her a hand up. She reluctantly took it, dissatisfied by his answer but accepting nonetheless. The two walked back to Draco's room in a somber silence. When they reached his door, they fell to a wordless stop. "What do I tell him?"

Harry let out a heavy sigh, pinching his nose between his forefinger and thumb. "Do you want me to talk to him?"

"I'm not sure. He's probably confused. He's so lost, Harry."

Harry took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. "Don't worry, Hermione," he said in a tone much more confident than he really was, "We'll help him find the way back. We'll bring the ferret home."

Having broken the serious atmosphere, Hermione smacked her friend on the arm in amused exasperation. "Don't make jokes, Harry Potter!"

"Sorry, sorry," he said not sorry at all.

She gave him an exaggerated eye roll and pushed him playfully. "If you've traumatized him and yourself enough today, then be gone with you already."

He smiled a bit sadly and bid her farewell, determined to sort out the scattered memories as soon as possible.

Draco hadn't moved from where she had left him. From Harry's description of his mental state, she couldn't help but compare the boy to Neville. No one had made it through the war unscathed. Some bore reminders of their suffering on the surface, like Neville, but so many countless others hid their ghastly scars deep within. She had had years to ponder it, but she still couldn't decide which was worse.

Shaking her head to clear her grim thoughts, Hermione stepped through the doorway. At the sound of her entrance, the blonde removed his head from his hands. He looked to her with a faintly hidden hope that she hated to crush. She crossed the room quickly and let her fingers slip through his.

The warmth of them surprised her. Over the weeks she had failed to notice how much he had changed. Gone were the skeletal hands that had first reached out to her, replaced instead by the so very impossibly alive boy before her.

Quiet, hopeful, fearful. "Did-did he find anything?"

"Nothing that makes sense."

"I see."

"No, you don't."

"Don't be smart."

"Can't help it. I'll have you know I was top of my class."

"Congratulations. Would you like a medal?"

"Don't be snippy."

He shot her an unamused glare that slowly dissolved into an exasperated grin. "Fine, fine."

"I'm sorry it didn't work, Draco," she apologized sincerely.

He nodded but said, "I didn't expect it to."

Hermione frowned. "Then what are you so down about?"

"You asked me if I trusted you. And I wasn't lying. I do," he said slowly, carefully. "But I want to know. Who are you? Really?"

"My name is J-Jean. I told you," she stuttered.

He shook his head distastefully. "Don't lie to me. You said so yourself that it wasn't. Why won't you tell me?"

Hermione bit her lip, hating the disappointment on his face. "I-I have to go. I'm sorry."

When her hand slipped through his, he made a grunt of disapproval, clearly irritated at her for taking away his ability to question her.

"Besides, I think I've dropped enough clues. I think you've already guessed who I really am," Hermione said rather wistfully, almost as though she wished he hadn't.

He heard her hovering in the doorway. He couldn't see her, but he could hear her indecision. She wasn't wrong. He had his suspicions. Draco had known she was never just Jean. For a start, there were no Jeans in their year at Hogwarts. And the things she said, they were so familiar. He knew he had been horrible to her, no matter who she was. But there was one girl that he was especially awful to. For so many reasons.

And he so badly hoped she was the very same girl.

There was nothing more Draco wanted than to know for certain. But the very girl, whether who she was who he thought or not, had taken away his chance to guess. His voice. His stupid voice. He wanted to scream in frustration. The silence was stifling and suddenly he couldn't live with it for one moment longer.

So he shouted. He shouted her name, his head filling with nothing but her name, her name, her name. And finally, her name.

"Hermione..."

A/N: Hey there, friends! Sorry it's been a while, but I promise I haven't forgotten about this story! I've been working on it, but school kind of has to come first...

Anyway, hope you like it! Let me know what you think :)