War's Trauma

A sheet of black blanketed his eyes. The more he rubbed, the darker it stayed.

Draco reached for his wand and ignited the tip in blistery blue light. It penetrated the black with ease. The room was the same in which he'd been shown upon his arrival to Italy. The suite that Blaise prepared for him and Hermione.

His heart stopped. Mione! Where was she?

Suddenly a figure emerged from beneath the comforter with a nest of curled, frayed hair twice the size of a normal head. It was his Hermione, deep in sleep. Her jaw hanged lax from its seat. A slight part in her lids with only the white visible.

He touched her gently, assured that she was alive. His magic calmed when he felt hers stir under his probe.

"Turn it off," she moaned, then rolled away from the light of his wand.

She was gone.

What was it that woke him?

He ground his palms into his eye sockets until fizzy white dots overtook his vision. An involuntary yawn escaped his lips. Sleep sounded nice. Why wasn't he still in it?

Draco took stock of the room. There were a few plastic shopping bags in the corner. It was not like Hermione to take to shopping, but it was easy to believe that Pansy roped her into an outing. That was the way Pansy dealt with any kind of stress.

He returned to bed, intent to curl against Hermione's warm body, when he saw a biscuit on the bedside table. It was small, flat, pocked with little squares. Warmth spread through his fingers as he held it. Pride filled his chest as he stared off at the mass beneath the comforter that he was going to marry. Thoughtful to a fault.

Draco nibbled at the biscuit as he lifted back his half of the comforter, ready to dive right in, when a loud clatter shook the ceiling above. His fingers clenched against the wood of his wand.

Somehow, Hermione was unbothered by the noise. She stayed beneath the covers and blankets in her cocoon. He watched a moment before he planted a kiss upon her exposed flesh.

There was no way for him to sleep with a circus on above his head. Whoever it was shall be asked to quiet down. Once. Then his wand would do the rest.

It was not easy to sleep for Draco. More often than not, nightmares kept him frozen awake in his bed for hours. It was not easy to chase the land of sleep. He tried and tried. Hermione made it better. When she laid cuddled against his skin, often after a shag, sleep was found easier. More peace.

But that wouldn't happen if a banshee was above his head.

The hall of the mansion was eerie still. He slipped a robe overtop his silk pajama set as he headed toward the stairs. He hadn't been shown much of the place. Blaise wasn't as good a host as he claimed.

"Prat," he muttered as he ascended the winding dark stair.

A potion-induced rest had done Draco's mental state well. He felt relieved, under control, for once, since the start of Hogwarts the past autumn. His life had been a whirlwind the past few years. The war left his need for brooding more prevalent than ever. Hermione was his one savior. She was the grace he needed to find himself back, dusting back the bullshit of whom he built himself up in shield, ready to accept some happiness for himself. For once.

It was his time.

The afternoon before dropped a bit of a load on his comprehension. Pansy had no right to bring that up after so much time, so much loss. It was dead and buried with Voldemort.

Or, at least, that's what he thought.

Salazar. His fiancé had pulled him away from murdering a friend of theirs. What had he been thinking? He was lucky she even looked at him after that.

A clutter down the hall echoed through the cold corridor that Draco had arrived at. His bare feet thudded in proud steps as he headed for the door, ready to threaten a wrath worst than the plagues of Egypt if his beloved were to be awoken from her hibernation. Lately, her sleep was all too important for her mood. Premature waking was not an option if the house wished to still stand.

He shoved the handle forward as the hinges of the ancient door screeched in disrepair. His lips started the spiel of night being an indication of slumber but the sight he saw stopped his words mid-air.

Theo was on his knees, back leaned against his mattress. The bottle in his hand drained into the open hole of his face. Through the green grainy glass, Draco saw the mark of red eyes.

The room was a mess. Long strands of wallpaper hanged off the walls in gentle curls. The mattress was bare, and half torn from the bed frame. Items of the wizard's trunk were tossed all about the room in some pathetic sad rave of one lonely attendee.

Blood smeared against the empty bottle when he grabbed hold and tossed it against the floor in a thundering shatter. Ragged fingernails scratched at his cheek.

It was easy to assume the animal with whom fought against the walls of his cage was the very same who sat in desolate room away from everyone.

Draco sighed as he dragged his hand down his face. "Nott." His voice was weary. "The bloody hell you doing?"

The wizard shot upright in an expressionless way. A puppet pulled taut on strings, so miserable, the life on limited freedom. Theo squinted, though the room was entirely lit.

A line of crimson droplets fell as the wizard through his hands up. "Welcome to hell. Join me?"

It took much to get the wizard so sloshed. By the way his words slurred and hiccupped out his lips, a dangerous amount of liquor filled him.

Draco said a spell. An empty bottle reassembled in the middle of the room. The hazy glaze in Theo's eyes stared on as his hands did a few child-like claps. A growl warned the wizard not to push his luck. It was not in Draco's repertoire to assist in such meltdowns.

However, it was to save Hermione the sleep she'd lose if she came up and were to find Theo in such a state. She'd stay the entire night with him to comfort his woes, and the poor witch deserved some rest after the holiday they'd had so far. She needed some kind of peace. So, it was left up to him to rectify the situation.

He hesitantly stepped inside, internally groaning the entire while.

"It's late," Draco said softly.

Theo's head bobbed. Those glassy eyes filled with water the longer he stared at the bottle of ale. It was the one thing that he wanted to drown himself in, not that he hadn't tried ever since the start of the war. The alcohol didn't need to call to Theo anymore. He went there, willingly. The blur gave the wizard the answer to whatever pained him and was passive in the arse it made of him in the process.

Draco crossed his arms as he waited for an explanation. The destroyed room, the ale, the water in his eyes. It was eating him alive. The wizard saw Daphne that night. Theo was given answers to his questions, clearly upset with the truth. But why?

Daphne loved Blaise. End of story.

The silence hurt. It was filled with question and tension.

Draco wasn't going to let the quiet go to waste. He set about all the cleaning spells he knew to return the room back to his former glory so that the master of the house did not promptly murder Theo where he stood. That would be a cherry atop the massive shit sundae.

He was about to bring the drapes back to their unsinged fashion when the silence broke.

"She married him." There was some kind of disbelief in Theo's voice. As if he didn't understand.

Again, Draco sighed. "I know."

He felt for the wizard. Now that Draco knew what it meant to be entirely, openly, so bewitched in love, a life without her hurt to imagine. It was a life that Theo lived in. A life that he had to endure in her company. Draco couldn't do it. He couldn't be around Hermione with another man, out in public, at a function, for a dinner party. It would break him to his core.

It was a bit of a stretch to compare his feelings for Hermione to Theo's for Daphne.

A childhood love was nothing like the intense bonding that Hermione and Draco had for each other. It consumed them entirely. A heat that most witnessed only in their deepest, darkest fantasies. His claim inside her body was a spot forever reserved, claimed over and over again, never to be without his scent on her.

Draco understood the struggle. Seeing a witch move on in happiness was difficult, but there was no reason for the disbelief that the other Slytherin wizard had. They had not been together for so long. What claim did he expect to have on her?

Suddenly, out of Theo's hiccupping daze, came a roaring sob. It threw the wizard over top his lap into his open hands. He scratched at his flesh as a river fell from Theo's eyes. The raw emotion displayed in his body left Draco unable to look away.

There, silent and curious, he watched his childhood friend who'd turned him into Voldemort to be made a Death Eater, cursed to be haunted forever by the horrific dark magic he allowed in his soul, with a hollow sadness in his chest. Those howling cries in pain were all too known to his ears. This time, it was someone else dying. Not himself.

"Where is that bloody thing?"

A frantic searching amongst the room made the room return to a state of undress. This time, Theo went as far as to rip portraits off the wall, screaming as he did, smashing wooden boards of the frames to nothing.

"I brought another one. It's got to be here somewhere. Where is my sodding ale?"

Draco sighed. Being a friend was a goddamn chore.

It was by some luck that Draco was taller and stronger than Nott. He grabbed the wizard's arms behind his back, forcing the wizard to be disarmed in his fit.

He fought against the hold with all his might. Feet stamped against the floorboards as he pushed and pushed.

The noise. It would wake Hermione for sure. Draco warded the room against the noise. His attention slipped away from the flailing wizard which gave Theo just enough of a window to throw the wizard against the wall in an attempt to get free. Although it didn't work too well, breath was knocked from Draco's chest.

Draco lost his footing. It pushed the other wizard to the floor with him. Unable to catch themselves, their bodies clattered to the floor in a sudden jolt. A sudden thrust of tears thrust to Draco's eyes. He looked down and saw a puddle of blood below his face.

The fit of Theo's was over. He was curled in the fetal position, crying into his knees.

It was difficult to do with the distraction of so much blood, but Draco raised himself to his knees. Thick gushes of hot blood dripped down. His hands were coated.

"Fuck." He growled. It was everywhere. The threads of his pajamas were soaked in the violent red. A lost cause. He wiped his bloody hands down the front of his shirt. "She's moved on, Nott. It's over."

Theo's breath shuddered out his throat over and over. The more he tried to gain control, the harder his body shook in pain.

"That's not it." He whimpered.

"Then what is it, Nott? Because you've been acting like a right royal prick ever since we got here. Did you think she'd wait for you to settle down? Did you expect her to stay with you after the shame you turned her into? By god, the entire city of London knew that you two consummated your relationship at Hogwarts, at home, on holiday." A gentle burn came to his eyes. Sleep called to him. "She's a witch. Not a whore. She was not to be used just when you felt like you wanted her."

"I know that."

Silent tears drained down the length of Theo's nose and dripped to the floor. He sat eerily still as tears kept their flow down his face. He made no attempt to wipe them away which Draco watched in interest, as the feeling of water on his face irritated him to no end. Theo laid there. Helpless. Blank stare. Dead inside.

It was a feeling that Draco Malfoy knew all too well. That was the feeling he had at the end of the war. Avoiding Azkaban had impacted him little in terms of hope. He knew it was pointless. There was no way to continue.

He was numb

angry

broken.

The world wanted him dead and he wanted it, too.

He drummed his hands against his thigh as he kneeled there, lost in the expression of Theo's face.

"He's ruined everything," Theo finally whispered.

"Blaise saved her, cares for her. You can't possibly believe he ruined anything."

Theo shook his head, shedding tears as he moved. "Not him."

Eyebrows shot to the top of his head. Draco didn't understand. "Who then?"

A figure appeared in a doorway farther down the corridor, next to the servant's stair. Draco caught a glimpse of the dark shadow for a moment as he turned to retreat from Theo, back to his love, to hold her a bit tighter in his arms and not let her go. After all the emotions with Theo, he needed to retreat back to her comforting swirl of magic, know that she's his. Forever. Never to be touched by another.

The figured stared in its shadowy blanket. Silent as the grave.

Sensations crawled up Draco's back. Pointed chills stabbed his bones as it ascended, ready to deliver a fated blow to his head when the sound of a creaking door broke through it all.

The threshold was empty.

No one tread within the hall, on either side of him. Theo still groaned behind his door. The buffoon couldn't remain quiet if his life depended on it. Not that he should after a night like this, not after what he learned.

All in all, if Theodore Nott managed to become a normal, healthy wizard, it'd be a miracle.

Draco was about to forgo his interest in lieu of returning to his sleeping beauty, but a whisper in his mind refused to stifle the curiosity. He believed to know who it was behind that door. That someone had answers.

He rapt his knuckles against the open door as he strode through. The atmosphere instantly lightened. Warm air splashed across his face, a stark contrast to the gloomy cool of the corridor behind. Draco's shoulders dropped their tension, melted slowly into the comfort of the space, and realized what it was.

The room was a library, almost half the size of Malfoy Manor's. It was impressive to be granted such expansion spells for a building in such a Muggle community. Sometimes strong magic left traces too hard to ignore, even for muggles. A collapse in the strength of the house magic and the illusion would come undone for all to see. A nightmare for the Ministry of Italy. They were a bit more private, smaller government, but their regulations were in no means flexible to circumstance. One break in their laws, immediate trial and mandated probation for years. Years.

A roaring fireplace casted large bursts of light across the scattered bookshelves, tall as the ceiling. Exposed wooden beams of the ceiling supported the shelves themselves. Each top affixed to the dense wood to prevent an accident.

A selection of black leather couches and chairs sat around. Some were placed between shelves with a desk between the pair. A rather large collection of all matching furniture decorated the back half of the room. By the look of it, the library could easily seat fifty people.

Draco found it curious that a private residence needed such space. There was no reason for it. Malfoy Manor was twice the size with a quarter of the seating. He walked through to a dark corner of the room where he knew he'd find whoever lurked in the shadows at night.

The scent of the old books brought him back to the library of Hogwarts. It was burned in his brain. All the nights spent pouring over lesion books, studying, reading, gaining knowledge. Then there were the thoughts of Hermione in the library. They weren't friends back then, of course, but he saw her there often. She studied as Potter and Weasley walked around like kings of the castle. He remembered her there studying and reading her heart out.

Once he was in pursuit of a book on obscure charms, in pursuit of his own idea of what he'd do for the second challenge in the Tri-Wizard tournament, he'd ran into Granger in one of the aisles, reordering books that were lazily put back by students too distracted or stupid to realize that they'd gotten them out of order. She had books piled up around her. Her tip toes with arms stretched high to replace a novel on the fourth shelf far above her head.

As he worked his way through the memory, he realized how beautiful she was. Sexy, even. Hermione Granger was attractive in those day, no matter how much he convinced himself that she wasn't. He had to view her as an ugly, stupid, mental witch below him in every way.

It hurt to remember. His past. The past with Hermione was not the beautiful love-filled one he wished it was. If he could go back, do it all over again, he'd try his best to win over her heart that first year, and constantly, year after year, prove that he deserved to keep it.

"Trouble sleeping?" Draco asked, as the dark figure appeared behind a desk fallen in complete shadow. "I don't take you for having a guilty conscious."

The figure scoffed. It emerged from the black with a half-filled glass in hand. Bourbon by the smell of it.

"I'm not the one who needs one," Blaise said. There was a silent moment where neither of the wizards moved. Their faces stayed fixed in their passive slates of indifference until finally one caved. The host grinned with a pearly white smile. "Daphne has meds she needs at night. Usually can't fall back asleep for a while after. Drink?"

Draco was delighted. "Please."

A short glass was filled with amber alcohol with the distinct smell of sharp cinnamon. He sipped the liquid with delight. Firewhiskey. It felt a welcome numb to his tongue.

Blaise leaned against his desk; ankles crossed over to other. Draco opted to sit in one of the lush chairs set about. He tapped his finger against the rim as the cushion enveloped him with a rushing warm comfort that shut his eyes. It was too comfort in that room. The fire, the books, the chair. It all worked against his eyelids in the struggle for control over him. For a moment, he was lost in the fight that he didn't care to Blaise's presence or the mystery of his secrecy. All that mattered was the comfort of the damn chair.

The cackling of the fire as it ate through log was a white noise as they sat in silence. Neither wizard spoke. They sipped their glasses and breathed below the ambiance. Draco hadn't the desire to break the serenity he finally found himself in. He doubted Blaise wanted to either, since he would be the one answering questions.

But. It had to happen. They both knew that it was only a matter of time before the tension burst their peace.

Draco had come all the way to Italy for Blaise. He figured the host would extend the curtesy of answers without being asked.

Alas, it was Blaise Zabini. Nothing was given by the wizard. He required exchange for information, even the most innocuous.

"Why her, Blaise? Why Daphne?" Draco asked quietly. He remained a stagnant half-asleep being in the chair. He knew all too well that the wizard never let his face do the talking, so it was not worth the trouble of looking at him. "After everything between Theo and her, why choose her? Messy business."

A glass was set against the desk. It sharply split the calm around them.

Blaise exhaled. "Why Granger?"

"I don't know," he answered.

"Yes. You do."

Draco swallowed the knot in his throat. "If you are implying that I am with her for any sake of backhanded revenge…"

Vision flooded back to color as he opened his eyes.

Blaise was in the same position, except his hands now gripped the ledge of his desk with taut pale knuckles. "It was always more than that. I hate Theo, yeah. I hate the bastard more than I can say. But, I love Daphne for a whole other reason. One apart from him."

"Couldn't get her to see it in England, could you?"

His slanted eyes squinted to nothing but dark slits of eyelash. "I couldn't trust Theo to respect her limits. He never did before. Even now. He looks at her and sees his. He doesn't respect her title, her name, her place in society. It will always be her weakness. I can accept that. I do accept that. But I will not let that prat be the ruin of her."

Theo Nott was not an abusive type wizard. He hadn't the heart for it. But he was selfish. His absorption with his own life left little to be left for the others in his life. Daphne was the one hung out to dry more often than not.

It was how Draco was in those days. He hadn't yet learned how to be patient, to respect, to tend to someone's wounds, to rebuild a person as he did now. It took work to tear that illusion from his eyes. It took a need to break away from it.

No one would debate about the progress of Draco Malfoy, or even, Theodore Nott. It just wasn't enough.

"And Granger? What about her?" Blaise asked.

"She's mine." His lips said the words before he even thought of it. They were an automatic response. His. She was only ever going to be his. And when wizards liked her as so many do, it brought forth such a need to claim her again. "Body and soul."

Her name on another man's lips was not something he appreciated.

"Funny. I always thought she belonged to Potter. At the very least Weasley."

Draco's body jolted. "She's not their property. She was their commodity. I worship her, respect her, tend to her wounds when they can't be seen by even her best of friends." He took a deep breath to calm his heart. It was difficult to share. "We were both lost after the war. So lost. But we were the answer to everything we wanted. It wasn't a conscious choice, not one that I'd ever thought to make. When it happened, it just fit in the empty pieces, and, I never looked back."

A little scoff out of Blaise raised a fire in Draco's belly. The wood of his wand was more noticeable in his mind as he glared at the wizard.

If he wanted a fight, he'd get one.

"To overlook a mudblood, you'd have to be pretty broken."

He clenched his jaw tight. "I was."

A bemused smile lightened the dark wizard's features. Playful swirls came to his dark eyes, too.

"Does mudblood make you angry, Draco?" Blaise questioned with raised brow.

Draco settled back into the cushions of his seat. "No. Not angry. Furious. "

His hands gripped the arm of the chair just as tense as Blaise had gripped his desk. It was clear that both wizards were tense at the question of their mates. Neither desired theirs to be disrespected, even if it was from a long-time chum.

"Might as well get used to it." Blaise crossed his arms, raised his drinking glass to his lips and sipped the alcohol from the rim. He took his time to swallow the contents. It drove Draco mad. "The world isn't going to let you forget it. So, you better make your peace with it."

Draco sneered. "What would you know about life with muggleborns? Last I checked, you were right there with me wanting to join up with the Eaters."

Draco and Blaise both believed the lies that their childhood taught them. Blood purity, racial cleansing. Neither forgot the way they'd laughed second year as their classmates were petrified. It got worse as years went on. None that Draco dared bring to the light of day ever again.

While Draco was reformed, Blaise was given no such treatment. He was a pureblood wizard with a mother much like Narcissa Malfoy. It was still rampant in pureblood families to continue their line of purity.

The head of the Parkinson family would be ruined by the entry of a Hufflepuff to their family. If Ernie had been a muggleborn, it would cause more than outrage. It would shun the family from all circles.

Malfoy was already a cursed name. It was held in esteem, but with a bit of amusement at the fact that Lucius had turned light when he realized the Dark Lord was on the down swing. A coward, they called him. Draco was tolerated, but not with any kind of respect. With a two-faced father, none expected much out of the Malfoy heir.

"Draco." The wizard's voice was low, but steady. "My wife is disabled. She is bound to a wheelchair for the rest of her life. I know what will be said. I've heard it all before."

There was a break to the tension. A sort of relief to both their chests as they breathed in deep the scent of their glass.

Draco swallowed thickly. It came out very audible, which Blaise heard. The wizard stared into his glass of bourbon, savoring the flavor of the expensive alcohol.

"During the war, the Eaters were given free reign over the purebloods. All of us were subjected to one thing or another. Money, parties, boarding. We had to provide it without question lest we be traitors to our blood." Blaise gulped down the last of his glass. It took him a few moments to regain his voice after. "Nott was a recruiter for the Eaters, remember? He'd recommend certain individuals that showed true talent. He was a pig, no better than his son. Thought the world belonged to him, the bastard."

A decanter refilled his glass. When Blaise offered a raise to Draco, he shook his head. If he had another, he'd been sloshed. The biscuit in his stomach hadn't given his body much to battle with the alcohol.

Hermione deserved a partner not hungover the next day. He was set to make the rest of her holiday fun and happy. No more drama. No more fighting. If he had to curse Theo and Pansy to do it, he would.

Blaise took another long sip as he rounded the desk once more. "Daphne had gotten the courage fight back against Theo's ridiculous requests. She wanted time. Alone. Apparently, it made the younger Nott disown any part of her. He went home to his father, his evil father, and spoke of Daphne as if she was nothing more than a common whore, not deserving of her blood status. He outed her! So, when it came time to take their usual donations from the families, Nott senior wanted a bit more than owed…He wanted her. To 'fufill her uses to the wizards that owned her' he said. He dragged Daphne by her back legs, cursing her each time she tried to run away. And she didn't stop. She fought him. Over and over cursed her til she could barely stand." A grimace came to Blaise's lips. He sat there, suddenly silent, lost in thought as his eyes poured over something in his memory. Shiny water filled up his eyes.

Draco listened closely, knowing what came next.

"She wouldn't let him open her legs. So he pried them open, charmed them wide so he could…he could…" Blaise's breath shuddered in his chest as he tried to regain his composure. "She fought so hard that her muscles tore in all her legs. They say that the curses she had endured ate away at the damage, made it permanent. She was never able to walk again."

The two wizards sat in silence. The roar of the fire never crept below their voices again.

Night dragged by. It was a while later when Draco returned to his suite. He climbed beneath sheets stretched over to the other side of the bed where a being slept in their tangle. Slowly, he pulled the covers. One by one, they fell away to reveal her petite body below.

Hermione laid in a ball. Her back bent over, close to her legs. She shivered slight as she was revealed to air. Her bare legs puckered with gooseflesh; hairs raised on end. Draco caressed them gently, focusing his magic below his hand, and warmed them away.

A heavenly sigh escaped her lips. Her body released some of its tension and melted into the bed.

She looked so comfortable in her ball. But, he couldn't stand a moment without her. As gently as he could, he grabbed hold of her limbs and moved her closer against his body as one would do a small child asleep somewhere other than their bed. Her eyes clenched tight as he moved back to the head of the bed, her head against his shoulder.

Try as he might, Draco wasn't able to move her without her waking.

Brown eyes lazily open from their slumber. One, then the other. She wore confusion on her face as she stared, silent and unmoving.

He smiled gently down at her and kissed her forehead gently. "Go back to sleep, love."

Hermione glanced around the room for a moment before breath escaped her lungs. "What time is it?"

"Late."

The longer she stared, the more intense her gaze became. She reached up and grasped his face with both hands. Soft fingers spread across his cheek and chin as she examined him in her sleepy haze. He thought for a moment she was dreaming until she furrowed her brow.

"What's wrong?" She breathed. "Are you alright?"

He nodded.

For once, he was. Everything was right. His life, his soon-to-be wife. It was all right.

"I'll always be right with you," he whispered.

Although her eyes closed, she smiled. Her nose rooted against his shirt as she looked for a comfortable position to snuggle back against him for sleep. Her mouth stretched wide in a gentle yawn.

He brought them both down to the pillows. Hermione still cradled against his chest in a protective hold.

"Only yours," she said gently.