Chapter 4

Draco awoke in his four-poster bed after a glorious sleep. He knew he shouldn't waste his newfound energy, and so, he decided he would spend the day in the library catching up on schoolwork. The combination of his disastrous mental state and the torment all Slytherins were receiving from other students had caused him to fall drastically behind in his studies. If things continued the way they were, he would likely fail the year and have to return to Hogwarts yet again.

When he got to the library, he realized luck was in his favour. The weather outside was beautiful, causing majority of students to spend their weekend enjoying fresh air. For Draco, this meant having almost the entire library to himself.

Not wanting to push luck any further, he chose to sit in the back corner of the library, hoping it would hide him from any students still in the castle. His plan, alas, would not work for long.

After about an hour of combing through common antidotes for various potions, someone appeared at his table.

"Thank you, that was uncharacteristically kind."

Draco looked up from his array of textbooks to see Hermione standing across from him.

"It was the least I could do. I'd say you deserve a little peace after everything."

Thinking that would be the end of the conversation, Draco glanced back down to his books. But then, Hermione pulled out the chair opposite from Draco and sat down.

"You're having night terrors?" Hermione asked.

"Night terrors, day terrors… my whole world is a fucking terror. But I wouldn't expect a member of the order to give a shit about how the death eaters feel."

Clearly not willing to drop the conversation, Hermione pried, "What are they about?"

Draco wasn't sure if he should answer her. He wasn't searching for pity, especially not from her. She had enough pain of her own, and he didn't want to add to it. And so, he kept his answer short, "it varies."

"Well, that's vague," Hermione responded.

It became obvious that Draco wasn't getting out of this conversation without opening up a little more.

"Mostly memories. Things I wish I didn't have to see again"

"Like what?"

He was embarrassed about his answer. His memories were because he was a horrible person in the past. Did he really have the right to complain now? Keeping his voice low, he said, "like my dad screaming at me for never being enough, or watching my muggle studies teacher get eaten by a snake on my kitchen table, or Bellatrix…"

His voice drifted off from his last point. How stupid he felt to bring up that day, as if it was his pain to feel. How selfish he was being. He felt like he had to do something, anything, to make things right. But nothing would be enough to take back what had happened to her months before.

The guilt was eating at him. "I'm sorry for just standing there. I didn't really know what to do. I never seemed to know the right thing to do."

"You tried… you could have identified us that day, but you chose not to. The moment she saw me with that sword…"

Draco couldn't bear to hear her make excuses for him, and so he cut her off mid-sentence to say, "I should have done something, anything." Then he paused before asking, "you get them too? The night terrors. What are they?"

Looking at her facial expression while she thought of her answer was like looking in a mirror. They had entirely different pasts. Their lives were nothing alike. And yet, they were completely connected by pain.

"Oh, I guess the same as yours. Memories I would rather not relive. Sometimes I'm here in the castle watching everyone die in the war. Seeing Fred's face after the explosion is never easy."

Draco wondered if that was who she thought of when she saw the Thestrals.

"Other nights I'm at your house after being caught by snatchers…"

Her words faded and she began to clutch her forearm. Draco knew that under her sleeve was a scar, carved into her skin by his aunt. Yet another thing to be connected by, he thought. They both had tattoo-like reminders of their pains etched onto their arms.

Wanting desperately to ease her pain, Draco reached into his bag and pulled out his last remaining sleeping potion. He slid it across the table and muttered, "I think you might need it more than I do."

She extended her arm across the table to take it. Briefly, their hands intertwined with one another. Her warm fingertips felt comforting on his icy skin. Then she pulled back and muttered a thanks. Her eyes said more than her words. He knew that he had done the right thing. His restless night would be worth it to keep her from suffering.

He found it challenging to focus on his work after she left. Everything seemed to bring his thoughts back to her. The smell of the books piling around him reminded him of the time Hermione told the class that to her, Amortentia smelled of fresh parchment. When reading about elf legislation for history, his mind wandered to the ridiculous S.P.E.W badges she insisted on wearing throughout fourth year. And, during the entirety of his muggle studies homework, he wondered if any of these bizarre gadgets could be found at her parents' home. And so, once again, he found himself wondering why it always had to be her.