Chapter Thirty Four

" I am more, I am more than innocent
But just take a chance and let me in
And I'll show you ways that you don't know
Don't complicate it,
Don't let the past dictate
Yeah,"
'I know you', Skylar Grey

They sat on the floor beside each other, hand in hand, Hermione's head resting on his shoulder while Draco rested his cheek on top her head. They sat there and stared into space, neither letting go of the other.

He didn't know what had come over him. His jealousy took over and all he'd cared about was letting Hermione know that she was his, that no one else could have, love, want her like he did. And more importantly, that she would never want anyone else like she wanted him.

It felt… strange, liberating, to be so selfish. And his head didn't hurt, his mind felt strangely clear.

Glancing down at Hermione's hand, he caressed the top with his thumb. They were calloused, with one or two scars from paper cuts, why had he ever thought them so perfect and smooth?

Her hair tickled his cheek, the thick, bushy curls like a thick carpet, tickled beneath his nose and scratched his cheek. It was as if it had a mind of its own. It went wherever and did whatever it wanted. Why had he ever thought it to be perfectly smooth and silky? Hadn't her crazy hair been something he'd loved about her?

And Draco knew if he looked at her face, her skin would be dusted with the cutest freckles and sun marks, perhaps a spot or two. She'd also definitely have those monstrous bags under her eyes from too many unnecessary all-nighters in the library.

Strangely though, this new knowledge of her less than perfect appearance didn't make him any less attracted to her. She wasn't perfect, but she was still pretty and she was his.

His Hermione. He felt… like he hadn't seen her properly in years.

With a smile, Draco turned his head a little and kissed her hair; taking in the cat scent lingering from that nasty orange monster she called a pet.

"I punched Joana," she said randomly.

Draco raised a brow in question, though she couldn't see it. "Can I ask why?"

"No particular reason, just… trying to make a point."

"To him or to me?" Draco smirked.

"Oh, so you know Joana's a boy then? Took you long enough," she sniggered. "Theodore and I have a pot going on how long it'll take you to notice. I guess I win, he suspected you wouldn't realise till graduation."

Draco grimace. "Don't say another boy's name when you're with me," he said.

Beside him, Hermione giggled. "You're so jealous… I love it."

"Really?" he said, surprised. "Most girls would hate it."

"I don't," she said. "It might be absolutely terrible of me to say this, but I enjoy feeling wanted. I like that you're jealous, and selfish, and all those things. They're aspects of you… and I like you."

He caressed her hand. "I like you too."

They didn't say anything for a moment till Draco felt the need to ask. "So… why did you punch him then?"

"Because, you punched Harry," she answered.

He frowned in confusion. "So, you punched him… to get back at me?"

"Not exactly," Hermione said, her thumb coming to rest on top of his. She caressed it tenderly. "I… I just wanted to make us even, to show you… that I'm not as perfect as you think I am. It's why I was being such a bitch earlier too. I think it's lovely how you see past all my flaws, but I don't want that to become idolatry instead of love. I just… wanted to remind you, that I'm human too… and he pissed me off."

"Really, what did he say?"

"He said I didn't love you, that I was using you to boost my ego. It made me so mad, and I was angry with you, I guess. I took it out on Joana… maybe I should apologise?"

"Don't," Draco said. "Because I'm certainly not going to apologise to Potter."

"Hmm…" Hermione squeezed his hand. "I missed you being jealous. When we were young I would always acted annoyed at you, but secretly I always thought it was cute."

"You don't say," he murmured, his eyes looking at a crack on the opposite wall, but not looking at the same time.

"Draco?" Hermione said.

"Yeah?"

"When did things stop being so simple? When did we stop making fun of each other, getting jealous, pulling pranks, getting into fights, yelling, and getting back together again? When did we stop studying together, hanging out, telling each other everything, holding hands and not caring about anything other than if someone saw us doing that? Why did that change?"

Draco thought about it, but he didn't really have an answer. He didn't know why.

They used to be so simple, so innocent. All he cared about was being together with her. He didn't exactly understand his feelings, but he knew he always wanted to be with her, and nothing else really mattered.

Back then, it was simple to admit that he didn't want her thinking about anyone, not Lockhart, not Diggory, not Krum, and never Weasley. Just him. He remembered how it felt to see her across the hallway, to have her smile at him, to know things about her no one else knew. If he ever wanted to see her, then they'd send a message to each other… and just see each other.

When did that all change?

"I don't know," he finally answered.

Hermione snuggled deeper into his side and Draco let go of her hand to put an arm around her shoulder. His other hand taking the hand he'd just let go of and squeezed slightly.

"I miss it," Hermione said simply.

"Me too," he admitted.

"Remember the time you wanted to see Norbert the Dragon and we fought for days and you got us all in trouble?"

"How could I forget? They made us go into the Forbidden Forest," he huffed. "Ruddy crazy teachers, can't they give us a normal detention for once?"

"But remember how after we made up so easily, and then it was like we never fought?"

Draco smiled. "Yeah."

"And remember the time you got jealous of Lockhart and made me so mad, and called me a mudblood?"

This time, Draco grimaced. "I'd rather not remember that part."

"But you sat outside the common room and then cornered me in the girl's bathroom. Remember what I said?"

He nodded. "I remember you said: 'You hurt me. Don't do it again.' I guess I haven't been doing a good job of not doing that, huh?" he said sombrely.

"Well, all that I said that time, I take it back," Hermione said.

This time, Draco blinked. "Come again?"

"I take it back. I shouldn't have said that. It's impossible for you not to hurt me, it happens in relationships. You will hurt me, just like I'm probably going to hurt you… like you hurt me today when you just accepted that we should break up," her voice cracked and he felt a little guilty.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Hermione stiffened. "You hurt me."

He winced. "I know, I'm sorry."

Hermione was quiet but then she pulled her hand from his and hugged him tightly around the waist, burying her face into his chest. "Then hold me, and make me feel better."

At first, Draco didn't move, couldn't move, but after a few seconds his arms came around her. He held her tightly, stroking her hair and burying his face into her hair. "I'm sorry," he crooned. "I don't want us to break up; I should have said something then."

"I'm sorry too," she said, her voice muffled by his jumper. Draco pulled her back into his lap till she straddled him so he could hug her tighter. "I shouldn't have said the things I said. I don't care about Ron or McLaggen, just you."

"I know," he said. And for once… he did know.

Hermione was his girlfriend, she was his.

Draco pulled her away, and she looked up at him, her arms still around his waist, clutching his jumper.

Hermione's face really wasn't perfect. She had pock marks and bags and sun spots. Her complexion was pale and she obviously hadn't been sleeping enough. But her lips were swollen and her neck was littered with tiny dark marks from his kisses. She wasn't perfect, but she was beautiful to him none the less.

He kissed, her, gently, just a meeting of the lips. When he pulled away, she smiled. "Things… they can be simple again, they don't have to be like this anymore. We can be like we used to be, Draco."

The way she said it, he could tell it wasn't just wishful thinking said in the moment; Hermione had a plan. "How?"

"Because I figured it out. Why you changed, why things changed," her fingers stroked his chin as she stared at his chest thoughtfully. "I get it now. It was Joana who helped me realise it actually. I wouldn't have known otherwise. I was so caught up on not being a bother, on being perfectly understanding and perfectly accommodating to live up to your expectations of me."

"What do you mean?"

She looked up. "You know what Joana said? He said that to you, I'm not so much a girlfriend, but more of an untouchable deity. And I felt he was right," she stroked his cheek. "You never touch me anymore, and when you do, you always seem guilty. I don't think you've really looked at me properly in ages."

She was right, he hadn't. Draco still couldn't look away from her face; taking in all the little imperfections he hadn't noticed before, hadn't noticed for the better part of three-to-four years.

"I'm not as perfect as you think, Draco. No one is. I'm just, me. Your girlfriend, your Hermione, that's all I am. I break, I mess up and when I do, it's ok to tell me, to argue with me, to yell at me. Because however bad the fights are, I'm confident the making up afterwards will be ten times better. Just like they used to be."

She stopped stroking his chin and her hands fell to her lap as she looked down. "The problem is, you haven't seen me in years — loved me, argued with me, held me, kissed me… For years now, the one you've been looking at is her."

Now she'd lost him. "Her?" Draco questioned.

"Well, not you, the other you. Don't you get it? The 'you' in your nightmares, from your future. He's different. We're both different. You said it yourself. He was crazy, obsessed, and full of inferiorities. In this other world you dreamt about, the other 'me' hates him. He loves her so much, but from a distance. She's this beautiful unattainable dream to get him through a long dark winter."

Hermione looked up and took Draco's face in her hands, her eyes firm as she said, "but I'm not her Draco, I'm not that girl. I'm not a faraway dream, I'm right here, here in front of you, with you. You don't have to watch me from afar, you only need to reach out and touch me," she took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. "I'm right here, whenever you want me, whenever you need me. That other girl, she hated him… but I love you. And I'll always love you, if you'll only let me."

"I-I-I…" Draco stammered, unable to say anything.

She… she was right. He realised with horror. He'd not been looking at Hermione with his own eyes at all; he'd been looking at her with his.

For how long had he been looking at Hermione like she was another woman? How could he? It felt sick and wrong. This girl, this sweet gentle girl in his lap, she wasn't the woman who spat profanities at that other him, who vowed to hunt him down and kill him. This was his sweet girl, and she loved him.

Suddenly he realised how badly he must have hurt her over the years. She loved him, really loved him, yet he'd been seeing someone else all these years, treating her like someone else.

"I-I'm so sorry." How could he make it up to her? He'd practically taken her feelings and said they were nothing. All these years together, wasted.

She seemed to hear his unspoken question, because she took his hand to her lips, and bit his fingers, hard, the same way he'd bitten hers. Then she grinned. "Serves you right."

No wonder his head felt clear. He was seeing her with his own eyes for once. He was holding his Hermione for the first time in ages, not a spiteful hell-cat who hated him, but his school sweetheart, and right now, he wanted to kiss her again.

So he did.

Again, and again. He kissed her forehead and her nose and then her lips, memorising her face so he wouldn't forget it again.

His fingers trailed her eyes and touched the deep circles under her eyes. "I can't believe I almost forgot… how ugly you really are."

Hermione frowned, irritated, and tried to get up. "Well then, if that's how you feel about my face, then I'll just take my face somewhere else."

He pulled her beck into his arms and hugged her tightly to his chest. "Un-uh, no way. I'm not ready to get up yet, and if you go, my lap will get cold. Anyway, if I let you go, you might go scurrying off to find Weasley. I feel so bad for myself, always having to worry if my girlfriend's cheating on me with someone else."

"I would never," Hermione spluttered.

"Really, I thought Weasley was a 'good man', and I'm selfish and jealous?"

"And a toe rag," she added. "Don't forget that. An arrogant toe rag."

"And you're a bossy know-it-all with a book fetish."

"Well at least I don't spend an extra five minutes in the morning staring at myself in the mirror," she huffed.

"Hah, you couldn't stare at yourself in the mirror, cause then it'll break."

"Well you… you… you punched my friend for no reason other than you were pissed off!" he countered with a grin.

"So did you," she exclaimed.

As they argued, their fingers threaded together and squeezed, feeling closer than ever before.

XX-xx-XX-xx-XX-xx-OoO-xx-XX-xx-XX-xx-XX

Pansy tried not to cringe as he trailed his hand lightly up her back; instead, she smiled at the boy her father wanted her to seduce.

Damn bastard wasn't even looking at her. He was searching the Gryffindor table with his eyes, looking for someone and realising they weren't there. He pinched her back painfully in annoyance.

She forced herself to squeal.

He looked down at her, raising an eyebrow. "Knowing you, I'm rather surprised."

Pansy blinked, they were in the Great Hall, doing their homework. She was trying to get in his good graces and so was leaning against his shoulder pitifully, holding onto his arm. It made her feel a bit sick. "What do you mean, Reuel?"

"I didn't take you for someone so… liberal, I always thought you were stuck on Malfoy harder than a limpet to one of Snape's jars. And you were really reluctant most of the summer."

She really wished it was Draco she was clinging to, at least he wouldn't put any moves back on her. It could just be a peaceful failed seduction. But Reuel was different; he had very little interest in her, and would probably forget her name within less than a few minutes out of his sight. Yet if she was offering, he was more than accepting.

Not to mention, he was… she really, hated him.

"I wasn't reluctant. I was playing hard to get, waiting, figuring you out. I'm seeing if you were what I wanted."

"Really?" he smirked. "That wasn't the impression I got." His smirk infuriated her; it spoke of… other things. Things she desperately wanted to forget, things she had to forget is she was going to keep herself together and her sanity in check.

He laughed, running a hand through his spiked brown hair and stood.

"Where are you going?" she asked. Not that she cared, but she felt obliged to ask. She was trying to seduce him after all.

He held her hand; to anyone looking it seemed like a pretty intimate caress. But Pansy bit her lip in pain as she felt him begin to push her finger back, bending it over unnaturally with his sharp nail. She fought the tears that came with the pain. She wouldn't, couldn't, give him that satisfaction. He loved seeing her in pain, if she let him saw how much this hurt, who knew when he'd stop.

His patience wore out and he seemed to have gotten bored. He released her hand. She let it fall to the table, her finger throbbing as if it was broken — perhaps it was.

"Nothing, nowhere that concerns you," he eyed her finger on the table and smirked. He placed his palm over it and pressed down as he bent down. The closer he got the more pressure he exerted on the joint. She struggled not to scream.

When he finally got low enough to her face, her finger beneath his palm giving a soft, muffled 'snap', at the same time, he kissed her cheek.

Pain exploded in her hand, traveling all the way up to her wrist. Pansy fought it, sitting very, very still, even as Reuel applied extra pressure with his palm. When he finally got off her hand, she smiled.

"Hmm," Reuel murmured, eyeing her hand, which she refused to move. "Not bad, I'm growing rather fond of you."

"Thanks," she smiled. "That's what I'm hoping for."

"But you should be careful," he said. "You're not the only one whom I'm fond of. Someone might get jealous," he eyed down the table and smirked. Pansy didn't look to see which girl he was eyeing, which girl he was tormenting. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him as he laughed.

"Let's see how long you last, Parkinson. How long you can entertain me," he said, smiling so sweetly, so angelically, it was a sin. It had to be a sin, for something so pretty to hide something so wrong behind it.

When he was gone, she looked down the table. There didn't seem to be anything amiss. No one looked up, no one looked disturbed. There weren't even that many people, just a couple of first yeas, a few third years and some fourth years.

Pansy smiled to anyone who might be watching and excused herself, standing up and making her way out of the Great Hall. When she was far enough away and quite alone, she cradled her hand.

It was definitely dislocated. He was strong and he loved dislocating her fingers. It was the easiest thing to do in public.

Pansy cursed her weakness. She should be used to this already. Her father's punishments had taught her as much. It was just… Reuel was so viscous, so cruel, and he so enjoyed her pain.

She hated him so much, and yet… she might have to marry him.

Something choked in her chest, but Pansy pushed it down. No, she would not break, she would not be weak.

Her whole body crawled where she touched him, where he touched her. She felt like she'd never be clean again.

How was she going to fix her finger without alerting Madam Pomfrey? If she came too often surely she'd notice something was amiss?

She didn't know.

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It was strange, Harry thought, that now as he and Dumbledore watched a memory of Merope Gaunt being pushed about by her father while her brother cackled in the corner and a Ministry worker watched in absolute horror, he couldn't help but think of Livia and the things he said to her.

This was supposedly the purest of purebloods, direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself. Merope had a father, a brother, and a home and yet… this wasn't a family. It wasn't even close to one. It made his home with the Dursleys seem like a dream home. At least it was just his aunt and uncle who pushed him around, this was Merope's father.

Then to be told that this was Voldemort's mother, that this was a Slytherin family… it looked so empty, so hollow. All they cared about was the prestige of their blood and the superiority of their name, even while they squalled in dirt and filth. Harry didn't know whether to call that pride, naivety, or just plain stupidity.

And somehow, it left a horrible taste in his mouth. Because though Dumbledore was trying to explain how this was all relevant to Voldemort, and though Harry did find it all very interesting, at the same time, he couldn't get Livia's shocked, hurt expression out of his mind as he said all sorts of cruel things to her.

Now that he thought about it, what did he know about Slytherin households? Yeah, Livia might have a mother, father and brother, she might go holidaying with her aunt and uncle, but that didn't mean her life was perfect. After all, just look at Sirius's family. His mother's portrait was a clear indicator of what his childhood must had been like.

And even if it turned out Livia's family was as perfect as he had accused it to be, what did he prove by making her cry like that?

After reducing her to tears to satisfy his own feelings, Harry had left for the Quidditch pitch. But it didn't take more than fifteen minutes to set in and for him to realise exactly what he'd done. He'd tried to go back and apologise, but by the time he'd returned to that spot, she had already left.

Harry felt awful, the last thing he'd wanted to do was hurt Livia.

Harry couldn't fully understand the feelings he had for the little Slytherin girl. He cared for her, but it wasn't love or like or a crush, unlike the feelings he had for Cho in fourth year. It was more paternal, in a way.

Livia was timid, sweet, and she relied on him, Harry. Not the saviour of the wizarding world, but plain, old Harry Potter. Every time he was with her, he was filled with the overwhelming urge to just take care of her, to keep an eye on her and protect her like a little sister or something. It was a new feeling, one he'd enjoyed during fifth year. So the very, very last thing he wanted to do was upset her like that.

He felt worse than awful. It was a feeling similar to the time Lockhart vanished all his bones in second year and he'd had to regrow them all using Skele-gro except this feeling persisted in his chest and stomach. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

XX-xx-XX-xx-XX-xx-OoO-xx-XX-xx-XX-xx-XX

Pansy cast a quick Episkey on her hand and as the finger snapped back into its socket, she held her tears away. That took care of that, but there was still the bruising to think of.

The hospital wing was empty, Madam Pomfrey wasn't about. Pansy thanked her lucky stars. Maybe she'd be able to get some bruise clearing potion from one of the store cupboards. She'd fix her hand and continue as if nothing had ever happened. Hell, maybe she'd even be able to steal a bottle for herself so next time she wouldn't have to come to the hospital wing at all.

Pansy was well versed in healing techniques. Her mother was never the nurturing type, so whenever she'd suffered a beating from her father or mother, she'd call a house elf to tend to her. But they always made such a huge fuss, so Pansy watched and copied their techniques, learning from a young age that it was better to just take care of herself. She really wasn't comfortable with anyone taking care of her… although she sometimes wished she was.

As she entered the room, her hopes were dashed when she heard someone kiss their teeth in pain.

"Damn," she sighed.

There was the sound of a bottle breaking and then swearing — a very familiar voice, swearing.

Pansy pulled the curtain away and gaped. "Jo-Joana, what the hell… What happened to your nose?!"

Joana was sitting on one of the hospital beds. Her nose was bloodied, bruised and obviously broken. She seemed to be trying to clean off the blood very, very clumsily.

"Oh," she said looking up. "Hi Pup, we have to stop meeting like this, dammit," she dropped the cotton swab.

Pansy grew irritated just by watching her. "Give me that. Are you or are you not a witch? Did fixing your nose not register as an option before you decided to poke at it with that…that…thing! What did you think you were doing?"

Usually, Pansy wouldn't get so upset with seeing someone else getting hurt, but somehow… it bothered her to see Joana hurt. The Hufflepuff girl was a… friend of sorts. She and Pansy had a partnership to protect Draco, but also, Joana was a good person. They'd helped each other out of some weird situations and Pansy felt closer to her than to most girls. And so, she didn't like the sight of her friend hurt.

It was a new sensation… though not entirely unpleasant.

Joana looked a little bemused. "Well, I was going to reset it, but I don't have much faith in my Episkey skills, so I settled for disinfecting the wound till Madam Pomfrey comes back."

Pansy's eyebrow twitched. "Forget it, come here," she approached Joana and stood in front of her. Sitting on a hospital bed, she and Pansy were finally of equal height. She leaned in close and tried to take Joana's face, but Joana completely stiffened and pulled herself out of Pansy's grasp.

"W-w-w-what are you doing," she stammered uncharacteristically.

"Hold still," she said, taking Joana's face again, and pulling out her wand. "Episkey."

The nose snapped back into place. Joana gave a small cry but other than that, took it rather well — Pansy approved.

"Wow, that barely hurt at all, you're really good at that," she remarked, reaching up to touch her nose.

"Don't touch it," Pansy said, rolling her eyes. "You need to apply some bruise clearing solution or it might leave a scar, or at least a really bad mark."

Joana shrugged. "I don't really mind—"

"Are you crazy?" Pansy snapped. "How can this be ok? Look at you; it's horrible for a girl's face to be marked." Though Pansy kept the 'especially someone as pretty as you' remark to herself.

Pansy might be jealous of her pretty face, but Joana was still her sort-of-friend, and seeing her like this, bruised and marked, didn't sit well with her. "Who would do something like this anyway?"

Joana laughed. "Let's just say it was a pretty feisty kitty-cat. I think I pissed her off."

"I'm not surprised by the way you carry on," Pansy rolled her eyes again and went to get some bruise clearing solution.

When she returned, Joana was looking out of the window, her mind in a day dream. Her eyes in the light of the evening looked a muted shade of her usual violet; it added an attractive dream like quality.

Pansy reached up, touching the bruises with gentle fingers. It looked painful. "Doesn't it… hurt?" she asked softly.

Joana smiled, looking at her. "It did before, but now, not so much."

She looked pensive, not at all like a girl who'd just been hit. Her face was very firm, thought Pansy as she spread some of the solution on her face and Joana's eyes closed. "Mmm, that feels good."

Her voice became a little deeper and a slight frown appeared on her brow.

She looked rather handsome actually.

Wait, handsome? No, that wasn't right. Joana was sweet, girly and feminine.

But looking at her now, for some reason, she didn't look that way. Her jaw seemed just a little straighter, her eyes a little thinner. Her hair that was in two long pig tails didn't suit the manly expression she had as she opened her eyes and looked straight into Pansy's.

She smiled and took Pansy's hand, the frown intensifying. "What happened to your hand?"

Pansy looked away and tried to pull it away. "I knocked it into something."

But no matter how she tugged, Joana wouldn't budge. "Must have been some knock," she murmured and with her other hand picked up the jar of bruise clearing solution.

"What are you doing?" Pansy snapped.

"Just returning the favour," Joana said and began to message some of the solution into her hand.

Her fingers were gentle, Pansy thought it'd be ages before she could handle another person touching her hand after being violated by Reuel so badly so many times, yet Joana's fingers were soft, tender — almost adoring. It felt strange to be treasured like this, even if it was only her hand. It was something Pansy had never experienced before. It didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable like it usually did.

Joana was strangely quiet as she did this, taking extra time to message the injured finger. "You've got such pretty hands," she murmured. "Your fingers are so slender, your skin so soft. I guess nothing can compare to a real girl's skin in the end. You want me to take down the 'something' that bruised them?" she jokingly flirted.

Pansy blushed a little from the compliments. "D-don't be so ridiculous. And anyway, they're just hands."

"Yeah… but they're pretty."

When Joana was done and the bruises had faded, she smiled. "There, and now they're perfect again."

Pansy didn't know what to say. She felt like her mouth had forgotten how to work.

Joana looked up, and for another instant, Pansy didn't recognise her. This wasn't the flirtatious girl she knew, this was… someone else.

And her heart skipped a beat.

But then she had to ruin it with that stupid grin. "Don't go knocking it into any more 'somethings', okay Pup?"

Pansy blinked and it was Joana again. Strange, infuriatingly feminine, Joana. Yet… why had her heart skipped?

She looked down and realising Joana was still holding onto her hand, snatched it away.

"Thank you," she said haughtily. "Though your aid was not needed. I could have taken care of it myself. You on the other hand, don't go pissing off any more 'cats'. Don't you know a girl's face is her treasure?"

Joana laughed. "Ok Pup, whatever you say."

Pansy had had enough. She huffed and stormed out, feeling very, very confused.

It was only after she was gone, did Jonah let the cheerful grin drop.

He stared down at the hand that had been holding onto Pansy's and stared at the two fingers that had massaged the oil into her palm in particular.

A few seconds passed before he raised those fingers to his lips and kissed them gently.

Please review. The picture of Joana will be done soon.