CW: We have a flashback, folks. It's more detailed than what we've seen in the past. It is in italics so you can scroll until the font is normal again if you need to skip it. Also...Ron is back in this chapter and he'll be his typical dickish self.
Depiction of a panic attack as well. Minor one.
I know this has been a lot of setup. We're getting into some action soon I swear! I just have to establish where everyone stands first. I appreciate your patience.
I dedicate this chapter to rosenymphadoraweasley5. She knows why, but also she's been incredibly supportive while I push myself through these next few chapters. She is my real life Daphne Greengrass and she deserves all the love and happiness in the world, even if her IRLs are being shitty. I love you my dear, and this one is for you!
Betawork done by december_noon, Kindajew/datingstilinski1967, rosenymphadoraweasley5, and crookshankscrew.
I want to thank everyone that has left a comment/kudos. Seriously, the comments are incredible and I appreciate the time you all take to leave them.
peace and love,
sam
Waking up in the Slytherin dorms the following morning was disorienting, to say the least.
Instead of bright sunlight streaming into the tower windows, the dim glow of lanterns and olive green light greeted her. The warmth of Gryffindor tower was replaced by the lingering chill of the dungeons that made her want to burrow deeper into the covers. Most notably, the bedding colors were a dead giveaway that Hermione was certainly not in Kansas anymore. Despite the jarring notion that she was in foreign territory, Hermione had never felt more rested.
It was probably due to the lush mattress—money really did talk—but maybe the physical distance from Ron was helping, too. There were two password-protected doors, moving staircases, and several floors of the castle between the two of them.
And it was glorious. It felt like freedom.
Hermione had been pleasantly surprised with the reception from her new roommates. Daphne Greengrass really did open up when away from prying eyes. She had helped Hermione unpack and talked non-stop while hanging shirts and refolding jumpers with housekeeping spells that would prevent wrinkles. Thanks to that conversation—though that would imply some level of reciprocation from Hermione—she now knew the best time to go to the loo, the tricks to stay warm, where all the good tea was stashed, and all of the current Slytherin gossip (apparently, the current Quidditch captain was cheating on one of the Pureblood Princesses with a Groupie).
Daphne also created that diagram of Slytherin cliques that Theo had mentioned. It was a work of art. All colours and neat print. Realistic and satirical representations of her housemates denoted the key players of the political landscape. Hermione couldn't help but notice that Daphne's depiction of her sister wasn't at all flattering. She'd created a demonic version of her sister on the parchment, complete with devil horns and a faint red tint to her skin. Steam was also charmed to erupt from her ears every few minutes.
As Hermione's gaze drifted to the "best people she'd ever meet," she noticed Daphne's real talent was eyes. She made them as expressive as if the person was standing right in front of you. The eyes were the window to the soul, and Daphne Greengrass found a way to capture a person's soul using pencils and charcoal.
Malfoy's eyes were the first she noticed. His eyes held depths and swirled with shades of grey and blue that she couldn't begin to name. In the diagram, Malfoy was looking at a cartoon Hermione and his eyes looked... bright. Curious. Dangerous in the best way.
He looked like he could see her secrets.
Hermione's own eyes looked... vacant. She couldn't blame Daphne. Hermione had looked in a mirror many times and noted the violet crescents—half-moons might be more accurate at this point—under her eyes. There was no shine to her eyes anymore, just a hollow bit of dark brown. The same colour brown as the mud that supposedly ran in her veins.
Her eyes were the thing that gave her away. She wasn't vibrant anymore. Not when her eyes looked like they were dull and lifeless. Her soul wasn't there anymore. It had been taken from her through years of loss, war, and... something she refused to name.
Fear of a name created fear of the thing itself. And she was bloody scared of that—of him.
The real surprise had been Pansy Parkinson. Hermione expected to be ignored the entire time, but Pansy had jumped into Daphne's diatribe a few times with corrections or more salacious details—Hermione was doomed to room with gossips. In a twist, Pansy even offered to do Hermione's hair as the humidity could do a real number on her curls.
The beds were arranged in a triangular pattern. Very egalitarian for Slytherin which prided itself on a status. Perhaps it was designed to give everyone a full view of the room—self-preservation. Hermione knew which bed was hers not due to the scarcity of personal effects, but rather a plush lion was perched at the foot of the bed. Hermione assumed Daphne had placed it there, but then Pansy piped up.
"I thought you'd like to bring a little Gryffindor with you," she'd said without looking up from turning down her bed. It was a small gesture, but it was unexpected for Pansy to be this considerate. The sentimentality was zapped from the room in quick succession, though. "Don't take it out of the room or I will be forced to mock you."
Speaking of her surly roommate, it seemed Hermione wasn't the only early riser. Pansy was silently moving around the room, but she couldn't prevent the small click of drawers closing that prompted Hermione to pull her curtains back. Pansy threw a quick finger to her lips and tilted her head in the direction of the other bed.
Daphne was still passed out. Her easy grace did not translate to sleep. Her covers were twisted around her legs, she was laying on her stomach with her hair pillowed under her cheek, her right arm was thrown over the side of the bed, and her left arm was over her head.
Hermione nodded and quietly slipped from her bed to her own wardrobe. She was used to being quiet.
She was also used to people sneaking behind her, so she heard Pansy's steps even though she tried for stealth. As Hermione turned, the raven-haired witch was right behind her with a box in hand.
"My mum sends care packages for all my roommates at the beginning of the year. Tracey left before she got hers, so I figured I'd give it to you. It's all the toiletries she gets from France to try to ease the stress of education. Or to help us snag us a husband." Pansy rolled her eyes. Hermione stared at the emerald box between them.
This was officially strange.
Pansy Parkinson was not nice to Gryffindors. Or Muggle-borns. Or Hermione Granger.
Hermione reached out hesitantly and gave Pansy a small smile of acceptance. As Hermione peeled back the wrapping to reveal shampoos and serums for curls and frizz, she questioned how generic this package was. Tracey Davis had pin-straight hair like Pansy, so why would she need products to condition curly hair? She looked up to question Pansy, but the girl had slipped out to the loo already.
Hermione placed the box on her bed and missed the note of instructions on how to tame her frizz and showcase her "lioness mane." Pansy Parkinson was trying. A notion that no one would have predicted.
It seemed that debts were owed, and Pansy only knew how to repay them in the form of cosmetics and fashion advice. What else do you offer a war heroine with a brain and a heart?
The least she could do was help the exterior match the brilliance and vibrance within.
—
Granger skipped breakfast. Pansy and Daphne had come down minus one brunette witch and they explained very little about her absence.
Draco didn't know why he did it. It was stupid really. His hands had a mind of their own. Despite the voice in his head screaming at him to stop being such a fool, he reached out to grab an apple and a pastry from the table and hid them in his bag under a Stasis Charm.
Slytherin and Gryffindor had most of their classes together and he was presumably taking the same electives as Granger— classroom rivals even after a war. It couldn't be helped. He was bound to run into her and it would be the gentlemanly thing to do to offer her some snacks.
It was his good breeding. That's all.
Maybe it would instill some trust and he could use that to build their friendship. Pure, wholesome intentions.
He scanned at the Gryffindor table out of habit. Potter was staring at female Weasley like she hung the fucking moon. The Weasel was... oh, that's just disgusting. He currently had Lavender Brown trapped between himself and the table while clearly shoving his tongue down her throat. Brown was seated on his lap and didn't seem put out by the very public show they were putting on.
Draco wondered how Granger would feel about this particular development. Last time this had happened, Granger had been moody and there had been very clear divisions in the Gryffindor friend group. He knew she and Weasley weren't together anymore. The distance she'd placed between them at the Welcome Feast was evident that she wanted very little to do with Weasley. There was something else in their interaction though.
Tension.
He wasn't the only one to notice if Ginny Weasley's look of concern had said anything the previous night. Granger would flinch—only slightly—anytime Weasel moved near her. It was likely the PTSD they were all suffering from. But this was keyed into one wizard, not just anyone in her vicinity.
She hadn't flinched when Draco touched her. Twice. Or when Theo had placed his hands on her shoulders to give her the tour. Daphne did not understand personal space and Granger hadn't even moved an inch in retreat.
Just Weasley then. Interesting.
Blaise interrupted his thoughts by pulling Draco up by the collar of his robes and dragging him to the corner of the hall.
"Get me out of Hufflepuff," he snarled.
"What? Is no one susceptible to your charms?" Draco quipped while adjusting his uniform.
"Oh no. I've already lined up dates for the next two weeks. I'm doing just fine." He winked at a Hufflepuff girl that had just walked in; she blushed a pretty pink at the attentions of Blaise Zabini.
The Slytherin had a reputation that he had well earned.
"No. They are so... nice. I can't stand it," Blaise pushed through gritted teeth. "I mean I sneeze and I get bombarded with two dozen 'bless you's!' And if one more person tries to give me a passionate hug or asks me if there's anything I want to talk about, I'm going to hex someone!"
Draco choked on a laugh and tried to shift his expression into one of commiseration. He grabbed Blaise by the shoulders and nodded solemnly.
"Well... if there is anything you want to talk about, you know Theo is always there." Draco immediately burst into laughter.
"Fuck you, Draco."
"You'd have better luck with Theo, mate." Draco was struggling to reign in his amusement. Blaise in Hufflepuff was just too good. As much as Blaise enjoyed the affections of witches, Hufflepuff would surely break him with their offers of friendship and genuine kindness.
Blaise glared at Draco, very unamused by Draco's hilarious commentary. As Draco continued to berate Blaise with advice such as "avoiding sharing circles" and "making sure to only hug cute witches while they healed each other's wounds," Blaise got progressively more annoyed and eventually shot two fingers at Draco before storming off.
Classes were due to start soon, so most people were filing out of the Great Hall. Draco followed suit hoping he'd find Granger and be able to give her his peace offering before History of Magic. As he turned the corner to take a different route from the moving staircase,—fixing up a castle really gave one an advantage to find the shortcuts—he heard mumbling from an alcove.
"Been through worse. Survived worse. You've survived worse..."
He popped his head in and followed the stone arch to the ground where one Hermione Granger was sat on the floor. Her knees to her chest and her forehead leaning—no, pressing—into her kneecaps. She'd have a mark from that for sure. She was rocking slightly.
"Granger—"
Her head snapped up to look at him and there were tears welling in her eyes. She hadn't let a single one fall, but they were close. It hurt him just a little to see her like this. Granger was the strong one. His lifeline. And now she just looked... scared.
"I'm sorry. I just—I was struggling. I—I don't know... I can't go in there," she stuttered while shaking her head. It didn't seem like it really mattered who was there to hear her, just that she needed to say it. She was gasping like breathing was a challenge and her voice wobbled. "I'm sorry. I tried. I really tried. I just can't. Not with—I'm sorry."
Her voice broke on the last word and Draco's resolve broke with it.
"Stop apologizing to me. You... it's fine. It's just breakfast, not your exams. No one will force you." Draco took a tentative step toward her and she scurried back, compressing her body to be as small as possible. "Granger, it's okay. You're okay."
"I'm sorry." She was viciously rubbing her left forearm.
Oh fuck... her left arm. The scar couldn't still hurt, could it? Did she hurt herself? The guilt of that day bubbled up in his chest. She had a scar from his aunt and she was saying sorry.
"I'm s-s-so sorry," she croaked. It sounded like she was trying to get her breathing under control. He could hear her whistling inhales and shaky exhales with a long stretch of silence in the middle. Draco could picture her counting the beats in her head.
"You don't have to apologize." Every time she apologized to him his heart clenched. She shouldn't apologize to him. She wasn't the one in the wrong.
"I snagged some food from the table if you're interested." He pulled the apple and pastry from his bag and held it out to her, still from a distance. Like she was a stray cat he was trying to gain the trust of.
"Thanks." She pulled herself from the ground and walked slowly toward him. Her hands shook when she collected the meager breakfast. He just wanted to hug her, to make her feel safe and accepted.
Like she'd done for him.
That should have scared him—how much he wanted to be a source of comfort for her. He wasn't scared, he was determined. Granger had given him kindness when the rest of the world shunned him, and he just wanted to repay the favor.
"Is this because of the mating ritual at the Gryffindor table?" Draco asked, arching an eyebrow. It was a gamble. Granger was calming down and changing the subject could either lead to more sobbing or pull her out of it. She couldn't be this fragile over a break-up, though. Not her.
"You mean Lavender and..."—she swallowed hard—"Ronald. Um... yeah. It's just, I don't want her to get hurt." She wouldn't look at him. She was looking at the ground and still holding herself like she was trying to take up as little space as possible.
Wait... didn't want her to get hurt? This wasn't about old feelings for the Weasel?
"We should get to class. I don't want to be late." She swiped the tears from her eyes and shouldered her bag.
So we're moving on then, Draco thought as he nodded once.
Granger was obsessed with her marks, but she had barely taken a breath. Her eyes were still red from holding back the tears. Now, she was acting as though nothing had happened and going about her day.
As she was taking off toward the main stairs, he reached for her out of instinct. The second he touched her left arm, she pulled back.
Why was she so skittish now? She wasn't like this yesterday.
"Short-cut. A road less traveled if you will." He nodded toward the direction of the other doorway while putting his hands in his pockets.
"Robert Frost? He was a muggle." Her brows drew together and she tilted her head. Just like that, she was becoming Granger again. Leave it to the topic of a dead American Muggle to snap her out of her panic attack.
"Yes, Granger. I do read." He walked backwards to encourage her to follow him. She did. They walked to the classroom together while debating the meaning of the poem. The more they talked, the more stable she seemed.
She was confident in her arguments. Her voice was stronger and she stopped shaking so much. He noticed she even moved closer to him anytime they turned a corner.
Granger, ever the optimist, believed that the speaker was satisfied with the choice he'd made and didn't mourn an alternate journey. He didn't blame her. Her experience on the side of the Light, of fighting for the downtrodden, would lead her to believe that the hard choices and sacrifices were all worth it in the end.
Draco, of course, viewed the final lines to mean that the speaker regretted the path he'd taken. Much as Draco himself regretted his own choices and the path he'd ended up on. He absentmindedly pulled his left sleeve down when he saw her gaze drift to his forearm.
They were so typical. He tried not to smile at the predictability of it all.
When they entered the classroom, she naturally gravitated to Potter and he sat with Theo. He noticed how she asked Harry to sit between her and Weasley. Odd, she'd always sat in the middle. The token girl of the group and separating the two idiots so they could equally copy her notes.
Draco tried to focus on Binns and his lecture but his gaze kept trailing to the Golden Trio and the strange dynamics between them. Granger was still jumpy and suspiciously quiet for the lesson. Her hand didn't shoot up anytime a question was asked nor did she speak like the swot he'd always know her to be.
She was still making herself small. In size. In presence. In voice.
When she looked at him ten minutes until class ended, her eyes were glassy. She looked like she wasn't really there. Lost in her head. Going through the motions.
She rubbed at her left arm again. He finally realised she was tracing the letters carved into her skin.
It killed him to see her so... hollow.
Weasley looked as he always did. Like someone had pissed in his pumpkin juice. The anger rolled off of him. Anytime he even looked at Granger she curled in on herself. Weasley would just smirk as though this reaction pleased him.
What the fuck was going on?
Granger had just answered a question he hadn't heard when Weasley leaned around Potter and grabbed her arm to pull her close. Whatever he whispered in her ear caused her to tense. She was moments away from running out of the class. She shook her head and Weasley just stared at her with a smug smile on his face.
Draco made it his mission to figure her out.
—
Hermione was drained. It had been a day of dealing with questions. Especially after Ron's little stunt with Lavender today. People were looking at her like she was on the brink of a breakdown. Little did they know she'd been teetering on that edge for months...
Ron had pushed her today.
Showing off with Lavender when Hermione had edged into the Great Hall that morning.
Whispering into her ear that Lavender was better, more compliant.
Telling her that her know-it-all attitude was still annoying, that he was disappointed he hadn't broken her of that streak.
Ron told her she was seeking attention. That he knew she'd do anything for someone to look at her.
She wanted to be angry. She wanted to scream at him and pull herself free from his grasp. His words had instead provoked the old feelings of shame and fear. But seeing him with Lavender broke her. Not because she wanted him. No. Because she knew Lavender's future.
She knew what it was like to love the man, but fear the monster.
Hermione knew what it was like to be passionately snogging him one minute and cowering in fear of his rage the next.
To avoid the looks and the questions, Hermione took refuge in her favorite place. The library. Call her a cliché. The stacks were her safe space and the library became a bit of a maze the further you went in so she could hide out with little chance of being found.
She couldn't focus. Images of her past kept forcing their way in and she couldn't make them leave. Hermione closed her eyes and let the movie play. It would be easier to let it wash over her than to keep pushing back.
A lesson she had learned thanks to Ronald Weasley.
Stop fighting.
He'd yelled that phrase at her enough in the early days. The days when she still had self-respect. The days when she still thought she could fight back.
It didn't take long to dismiss that notion from her brain. She was a quick learner after all.
"I don't want to do this to you... you leave me no choice, Hermione! You don't listen!" A smack of his hand against the wall by her head. She held her hand over her mouth to silence the sobs.
It didn't matter anyway. The tears. The pleading. It always fueled him rather than made him stop.
"I tell you not to wear that short fucking dress. You do it anyway." He pulled her hair to force her to look up at him. "I tell you not to leave my side. You strut off to the bar, just begging for it." He punctuated each of his words with a sharp tug her hair that had her head smacking into the wall.
"I saw that bloke you were flirting with at the Leaky. Can't even care enough to hide it from me?" he shouted in her face. "Thought you were supposed to be smart Hermione. Thought you were supposed to be our Golden Girl."
Ron's fingers closed around her throat. He invaded her space even more. The alcohol on his breath would have made her gag if he wasn't compressing her esophagus. Each word he shouted only made the smell wafting over her worse.
"Gold is supposed to be precious, Hermione. How do you intend to keep things valuable if you pass it around like a common whore?" He released the pressure on her throat and she slumped to the ground gasping for air.
He took his anger out on her ribs and solar plexus that night. The tips of his boots made perfect circles on her skin that almost instantly turned a deep purple.
Violet. It was such an apt color for bruises from violent actions.
Ron was predictable. When he was jealous over another man, he punished her where the bruises would hurt most. Where the pain would seep into her soul and she'd wince for days with any movement.
When he passed out, she healed her wounds and ran to Harry's. A mistake she'd never live down. Harry had been worried, but she told him it was just a fight. Ron had been drunk and jealous of some reporter harassing her for an interview.
"We both said some things we didn't mean. There was a lot of yelling," she said. "We just need time to breathe. Time to calm down."
She'd lied to Harry before. She'd kept things from him to protect him.
Hermione would lie to him many more times in the coming months.
Ron always took her running to Harry as the biggest betrayal. His jealousy was harsh when it came to strangers. He was vicious if it was an old friend or classmate. But Harry? Harry brought out the savagery in Ron.
The punishment was worse for going to her best friend. The Chosen One. Ron's best friend and biggest rival for attention. Years of resentment and comparisons built up and, combined with his assumptions, made for a long, painful night.
She stopped running. She stopped fighting. It made it easier.
She was alone.
Alone.
Alone.
Alone.
The risk of running into another soul in the Ancient Runes section was slim. But not zero.
"Granger?"
Hermione pulled herself from memories of lies and quiet healing spells to see a blond head in the aisle to her right. Malfoy's hand was stretched to the top of the shelves pulling down a large tome. Damn him and his height. She'd have to use a levitation charm or scale the shelves to get that book.
"Malfoy. Are you taking Ancient Runes?" she asked as she quirked an eyebrow. It was time to put on her swotty persona. Malfoy had already seen her in shambles once today and she wouldn't allow it again.
"I am. Trying to get a head start. I'm surprised you aren't doing the same." He quipped with a tilt of his head. His tone wasn't cruel or mean-spirited like it had been two years ago. It wasn't even mocking really. He seemed genuinely curious why she hadn't commandeered the best Runes book in the library.
"I read that one two years ago. Always one step ahead, Malfoy." Hermione fought a smile—a genuine one—while she returned her attention to her Potions book. He huffed a laugh and settled the book under his arm.
She felt his stare on her while she continued to take notes. When she looked up again to send him on his way, the look he gave her silenced her.
There were those fucking eyes again. The ones that made her feel like he could see right through her bullshit. It made her nervous, but she desperately wanted to beg him to read her like a book. To find out everything.
"So who are you hiding from? Big bad Slytherins or overly concerned Gryffindors?"
Okay, so maybe she didn't want him to read her quite so easily.
"Who says I'm hiding?" indignance seeped into her voice.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Granger, the only section more deserted than Ancient Runes is Arithmancy. People don't sit back here unless they don't want to be found." Interesting how he knew that. Was he hiding, too?
She rubbed her left arm, feeling the bumps of her scar through her shirt. It was a habit she picked up along with the mantra. When shit hit the fan, she needed the physical reminder that some scars didn't heal.
That some things stayed broken.
"I just... is it bad that I'm hiding?"
"Nope." He popped the p as he leaned against the end of the shelf closest to her. "Do you mind if I join you though? I think the Arithmancy section is the new snogging spot and I'd like to actually get work done."
"Sit in silence and you can join me." She gestured toward the empty chairs across the table. Malfoy walked over and dropped his bag in the chair across, sitting diagonally across from her. They worked mostly in silence for a while. At one point her quill snapped and he offered his before she could get a spare from the bag.
It was nice. To just work without having to stop and explain the material or offer suggestions on assignments. The silence was companionable. The stress and anxiety eased from her body the longer they sat together.
"Granger. I think I owe you—"
"Don't ruin the moment, Malfoy," she looked up with a small smile and a plea in her eyes. "I was enjoying this." She'd let him apologize eventually if he needed to, just not yet. She wanted to keep this as it was. Untainted and easy.
A moment in time just for them.
"One thing." He held her gaze as he lifted his index finger. She nodded her acquiescence. "Can we do this again? You're not a bad study partner."
She huffed a small laugh. "Fine. But you're not copying my notes. I do have a reputation as first in our class to uphold." He looked down and she thought there was almost a smile there.
"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," Hermione declared, returning her to work.
So we have a playlist for this (it's a work in progress my friends):
As a teaser...we will have a Slytherin party in 2 chapters-things get HEATED-and Hermione makes some confessions soon.
Updates every 2 weeks on Friday.