TW: self-harm.
later that night
9.27 pm
Cream-coloured large bubbles were submerged and floating on the surface of the scorching hot water, Hermione had filled the pool-like bath with. The grand tub sunk into the ground of the Prefect's bathroom and worked miracles for any worried or anxious student at Hogwarts. Well, only to those who knew the password.
Hermione had asked her blonde Hufflepuff friend to give her the new combination of words to enter the luxurious bathroom when they had met during their Care for Magical Creatures lesson. Hannah and Ernie were the Hufflepuffs who shared their Prefect's tasks this year. To Hermione's relief. She, of course, had not informed Hannah about every detail of the derailed conversation slash groping that had happened with a certain Slytherin. Just that professor Carling's course had taken a toll on her tired mind and that Hermione needed a quick release from the built-up tension. And that was true. The amount of tautness she had accumulated while her intense exchange with Draco was deliriously large.
Hermione had stumbled out of the classroom that had been filled with heavy air from their bodies' heat emissions and ran like wind. She had wandered the castle, trying desperately to breathe and to wrap her head around what had happened. But without any success.
The only thing that she knew was that Draco Malfoy was supposedly "taking care of it" whatever he had meant by that. And that he did not want her to participate in it. What did he already know? What was he doing with the information?
Hermione dipped her toes in the divine water she had complemented with bath salts and foam which made lovely giant bubbles in contact with the sweltering liquid. And then she submerged her whole body in the delightfulness. The feeling was unmatchable, as she sensed the knots in her neck untie and her strained muscles relax from their constant form of contraction under her state of anxiousness.
She let her head rest against the wall of the tub and inhaled the forest-like scent that accompanied her chosen bath salts. Hermione recognized the smell and it felt rather familiar. Earthy fragrance laced with mahogany and pine. Subtle hints of apples. It was a delicious combination. She sighed in relish.
Draco had made it clear to her that the binding spell on them has effects on him too. He had expressed how he feels the attraction towards her. Just like she did. And he had done so in the most vile possible way.
Hermione had never felt this violated in her whole life. He had invaded her personal space and went even further. He had assaulted her with words and with his slender fingers. While he had restrained from anything more sexual, the way his large practised hands travelled down her small body felt even more intimate. Hermione had never had any boy touch her like that. And she had never felt so repelled and at the same time attracted to the person tasting her curves.
She had to scrub the leftovers of his touches off of her body. She had to erase his scent away. She had to scorch her robes. Maybe even burn them and bury the ashes in the furthest point of the Forbidden Forest.
But what had washed over his face after the intimate exchange felt far worse than any previous interaction. His facade turned from dominating and fiery to regretful and ashamed. As if he could not believe what his lips had allowed to erupt. As if touching the muggle-born girl was the most treacherous, vile and forbidden act in the Wizarding World.
She proceeded to scrub every crevice and every part of her body, pumping large amounts of soap from one of the few dozen taps that lined the tub. Hermione started with her neck, scratching the thin skin with her nails. Moved on to her ear. Then she lathered an excessive amount of the body wash on her chest, scraping away his fingerprints. Her last stop was the grey and faded tattoo of the poem that Draco had chosen so ridiculously to get them both marked with.
"We are so
Much more
Than our
Scars."
The message behind it was lovely and Hermione hated to admit it but in a way, she liked the words he had chosen. Even if the sentence had not meant to hold any meaning for her, it could literally suit everyone. Hermione rubbed the lettering, feeling resentful about the fact that Draco Malfoy was capable of dirtying her body like this and the fact that of all people he was the one granted the ability.
Hermione inhaled deeply, the aroma had a calming effect on her, while her mind went wandering even further. When had she met this particular fragrance? What did it evoke her of? Her eyes widened when the realization hit her in the forehead like a charmed Nimbus 2000. Hermione's chosen bath salts reminder her of Draco Malfoy's cologne. She remembers it vividly. How it still lingered in the air when he had stepped away earlier that day. How her robes wore his masculine scent even after her departure. Her subconscious choices left her jaw hanging. Was it telling her that that is what she truly longed for or was it the works of the curse once again?
It could not be her. She disliked Draco Malfoy with every inch of her substance. She tried to anyway. But whatever it was that bound the two together was making her feel like she needed to be around him, beside him and wherever he was. It was like a part of her was missing and he was what could fill the hole. And with every passing day, that response became stronger and the fact that Hermione saw him in her day to day basis did not make the matters easier.
Though she did not want this. She had not asked for this. She could not let herself surrender to it. Her body was aching for him while her consciousness instructed her to see it more clearly. That all it was, was some misplaced magical bondage and that she was far much stronger than any of that. Hermione had to fight for what she knew was right. While she recognized it as something beyond erroneous.
Hermione let herself scream. And scream. She gave out every ounce of despair and distress Draco had cast upon her with his confrontation. Hermione reached for her soaked wand and cast the same yellow lighting, slitting the shape of serpentine into more slices. Trapping its ugly form into a scarlet prison cell. Horizontal bars keeping the awful symbol from ever escaping.
Her shrieks echoed against the white marble that decorated the vast bathroom's walls and the candle-filled chandelier seemed to tremble just slightly upon the impact of her piercing voice. When her vocal cords gave out and her voice hitched in her throat, Hermione's body slumped further into the hot water and she immersed her frizzy chestnut waves, welcoming the flooding warmth upon the skin of her face. The softly lit room disappeared from her sight as the pale-white tiling of the pool-like tub met her sight. Swirls of maroon accompanied the image, as her blood left her wounds.
She laid there for many moments, ignoring the tightness in her chest, warning that she needed to come up and inhale immediately. Her nostrils let out the remainder of oxygen that her lungs held and Hermione's body went limp, allowing the flow to carry her bones.
The contrasting dark marble that lined her mind passageways was flooding with water, the red-stained stream carrying the small pieces of glass further away.
Hermione woke up shivering, her naked body resting against the now cold tiles of the large tub. The water had been emptied out of the bath as the drain laid unblocked at its flooring. Her skin along with her bushy hair had dried off already. The Gryffindor had passed out and woken up hours later.
"Oh, us muggle-borns always have it the worst," announced a high-pitched noise from somewhere behind Hermione.
She blinked, her eyelids felt as heavy as ever. A see-through dark figure floated in her sight, appearing in front of her. It was Moaning Myrtle who had landed and sat on the white marbles of the large pool. The ghost of the saddened girl leaned her head sideways and her compassionate large eyes displayed pity and empathy towards the Gryffindor sweetheart's unmoving body.
"What a shame," Myrtle flew closer to Hermione, "such a beautiful and young woman."
"Am I dead?" Hermione managed to whisper. Her throat hurt like it had been scratched raw.
Moaning Myrtle's loud cackles denied the question. "Aaah, do not amuse me," the ghost went through Hermione's weak figure, cold and bitterness washing all over her, and continued in a rather disdainful tone, her voice loud and sweet, "It is not that easy to get over to this side of the world. Nothing that has happened to you would allow your silly soul here."
The translucent form went flying away into one of the closest walls of the white-tiled bathroom, vanishing. Hermione mustered all of the weak and practically non-existent strength she had left in her and lifted herself up with her arms. Both of the limbs shook at the weight of her body and she noticed that the slits on her left arm were coloured in pale pink. Hermione hugged herself, trying to warm up. She had not even realized her organism had gone into a state of hypothermia. Grabbing her trusty wand, she cast a Warming charm, put on the robes that wore a faint scent of Draco Malfoy and exited the Prefect's bathroom.
She was on the fifth floor, looking bewildered and trashed, as her eyes wandered over the hallway, making sure that nobody was there. Getting caught and assigned a detention class for at least a month was not on Hermione's checklist of that year.
Moaning Myrtle had saved her life, as the spirit had presumably drained the water so Hermione would not drown. It had been utterly absurd for her to put herself in such a situation. Hermione could not explain why she had lost it that moment and gone debilitated, as her body refused to fight for life. It might have been everything and nothing at the same. But Draco Malfoy undoubtedly had pulled her last straw.
Draco. She had hurt them both again tonight.
Hermione trod the familiar path to the Gryffindor tower, the large halls were empty and her silent footsteps echoed, being the only sound carrying through the night. She climbed the narrow staircases nearing her house's area of residence. Though when her legs approached it, Hermione heard hushed voices in the distance. She quickly pressed her body against the wall and crept further along it, trying hard not to blow her cover.
Hermione turned the corner and saw two figures walking slowly through a dimly-lit hallway. Her eyes caught the sight of blonde hair and she made a guess that it was Draco. She could tell apart his shade of pale from a hundred. He was walking along with Pansy, her silky dark hair catching the moonlight and reflecting it gloriously.
Shit. What in Merlin's name were they doing on this floor?
They were blocking the way to the last staircase, leading to Gryffindor tower. Hermione cursed once again under her nose when both of them turned around to walk back the path they had chosen for today's Prefect hallway control. She should run. Sprint. But she would be heard. There were no cards to play in this situation.
Hermione pressed her body into one of the vault's arches and prayed to Merlin that they would pass without noticing her trembling body. Her heart started to pound. She could already make out their conversation. They were close.
"So, Draco, have you already figured out who you are bound to?" Pansy pried in her sweet voice.
"What?" He spat at his girlfriend. Or whatever they claimed to be for each other. His attitude was unmatchable. Truly a pain in the arse.
"Stop acting ignorant with me. My alcoholic of a daddy already accidentally told me when I was sixteen," she whispered, her voice muffled in Draco's robes towards the end of the sentence.
"It is not something you should now about, Pans," Draco growled.
They were very close now, Hermione could hear their breathing.
"Maybe it is me," Pansy Parkinson sing-songed in a flirtatious tone.
Both Slytherins were only a meter away from the corner where Hermione had poorly camouflaged into the wall. She heard Draco chuckle deeply at what Pansy had proposed, "I doubt it."
"Why? I do feel the attract—," the hard-faced Slytherin girl stopped in her tracks, grinned mischievously and tutted at the sight of Hermione hiding in the dark hallways like a lost puppy, "Tsk, tsk, tsk and what do we have here? A mudblood. What a treat."
Hermione took a shallow shuddering breath and tried to think of a good enough lie to feed both of the cold-blooded serpentines. It was when she caught the sight of Draco's vacant and emotionless stare, that the brave Gryffindor's wise mind went blank. As it always seemed to do at the image of him.
12.08 am