***TRIGGER WARNING: RAPE***

a/n: this one's all hermione and lots of arguing.

Chapter 8: Luck & Touches

Too many thoughts were filtering through Hermione's head to even notice the elongated silence between them. She thought of how very light her head and heavy her eyelids felt. She wanted to go to sleep, but she had to stay awake. She had asked Malfoy to make sure she didn't fall asleep and he was doing a rubbish job at it.

She focused on the way the crumbs of toast felt against the pads of her fingers. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her hands as she ripped away the crust. She was too inebriated to be embarrassed about playing with her food.

She thought about how Malfoy said her dress was nice hours ago. She remembered the jolt in her stomach – the same jolt she felt every time he carefully slipped his arm around her waist tonight.

She reflected on all the ways she was touched today. The innocent cheek kisses in greeting, the way Teddy ran into her arms, the hugs from old friends.

Mrs. Weasley's touches were motherly – filled with love and light and tight embraces. Harry's touches were brotherly in nature with his pats on the shoulder and side hugs. Ron's touches were safe, comfortable, and consoling – a reassuring hand squeeze when her anxiety spiked, his arm around her shoulders, and her leaning easily against him.

McLaggen's were coarse, possessive, dangerous. His touches hurt – they only took, never gave.

Malfoy's touches were… purposeful. Protective. Gentle, yet holding her firmly in place and keeping her from stumbling. His touches had reason. She remembered the way his hand tightened around her waist when he Apparated them to her flat. The way he hurriedly, but gracefully led her to the bathroom. He had magicked her hair into the low ponytail she still wore now. He was careful without making her feel like glass.

His words, however, were not so gentle. They weren't as careful – they were just said. Hermione had much of her life carefully planned out, but never her arguments with Malfoy. They came naturally and easily, like second nature.

She thought of the last time he saw her in a pretty dress, and the first meaningful conversation they ever had at the Yule Ball. She remembered how very odd she found him that night – why had he given her the time of day? Why say anything to her at all? Why not just laugh, walk away, and tell all his friends?

"Do you remember when you called me a glorified slab of mud?" Hermione chanced in-between bites of toast.

She didn't know what she was doing bringing up this conversation after all these years. She never even told Harry, Ron, and Ginny about her interactions with him at Hogwarts. They felt… private. Important. Moments to be preserved.

Malfoy looked over at her. Clearly, he was also shocked that this was being brought up in the flesh.

"That was when you were an emotional wreck after crying over Weasley," he said. "That was primetime for somebody like me to come and taunt you. Would've been a shit bully if I just let that opportunity slide."

Hermione felt something flutter inside her stomach, partially attributed to the nerve that it took to bring up this conversation, and the other part being the strange sensation of hearing him talk about his past self humorously. Juxtaposing their interactions after the Yule Ball vs. the Potter wedding – it was surreal. Everything had changed.

"Glorified slab of mud?" Malfoy repeated disappointedly. "What a terrible stab at an insult. For the status I was trying to get you to believe you were, I should've at least tried to be a little more convincing."

Hermione laughed before she could stop herself. He looked so shocked by this that she wondered if her laugh was that pitiful of a noise.

"I can't believe you remembered that," she said reflectively. She did not peg him to be the sentimental type to remember every conversation, especially with somebody he hated his entire adolescence.

"Maybe you're not the only know-it-all, Granger," he said.

"Are you suggesting you know more than me?"

"That's a very broad question. Know more about what? About Quidditch? High society? Everything?"

"No one knows more than me. Haven't you heard? I'm the brightest witch of our age," she said mockingly. She used to feel a sense of pride whenever people called her this growing up, but she hated it now.

He rolled his eyes. "Were you always this arrogant? And people call me conceited."

"You are arrogant and conceited and not as smart as me."

"You're such a downer, Granger."

She stilled. Her body tensed impossibly tight. Her throat dried.

\\\

"Don't be such a downer, Hermione," he said with a snicker. As if she had just told a joke.

"I-I'm not trying to be – McLaggen, it's not going to be comfortable for me if I'm not… in the mood."

"It'll get better once I start, darling," he said softly in her ear as he started to move against her. "Just relax."

He moved. It felt like being ripped open. She yelped in pain, unable to stop herself.

"Come on, Hermione," he grunted. "Relax for me. It'll feel good if you just relax…"

Silent tears spilled out of her eyes as he pushed against her. She couldn't believe she put herself in this situation. Again. What was wrong with her?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

And then he roughly grabbed at her chest and looked at her. He didn't care that she was crying.

"Does it feel good when I touch you there, darling?"

"No, it… hurts," she managed to say.

"That's okay, darling," he said without stopping. "It'll feel good. You'll make me feel good."

At some point, she could almost feel herself lifting from her body, watching the entire scene happen to her.

And then she couldn't feel anything.

\\\

"Granger."

She jumped and her vision cleared. Malfoy was kneeling in front of her wearing an expression she couldn't decipher. She had been squeezing his arm. She let go promptly, knowing how repulsed he apparently was at her touch… even though she didn't feel the same about his.

When he saw that she was back, he stood up and his eyes narrowed in irritation.

"You're full of shit if you think you can keep living like that," he said bluntly.

Her drowsy eyes looked at him. Where had that come from? She must have spoken while she was taken back to that memory. It happened sometimes. She cocked her head to the side and asked, "What do you mean?"

"Not talking about whatever it is you're not talking about. Whatever happened with Cormy McTosser," he spat.

"That's… none of your business," she said, her chest constricting uncomfortably. She swallowed hard.

"You're absolutely right, it's not," he said. "But he was a right prick bloody touching you like that. You were also clearly drunk and he seemed to like that, didn't he? I swear –"

He kept talking, but his voice blurred. Some invisible barrier had formed in her hearing — she could hardly understand him. It was like she was wearing earplugs, or as if somebody had cast a bad Muffliato charm. She knew she should feel angry at McLaggen, but she only felt shame. Malfoy's angry tone almost felt like a lullaby to her foggy brain. She just felt so tired.

"—Honestly, Granger, that git can be thrown out of the Auror Department for treating Potter's best friend like meat," he said disgustedly.

"Again, Malfoy, it's none of your business," she said, rubbing at her eyes with her palms.

Why was he so mad at her? Why did he care at all what McLaggen did to her? What benefit did he have for being angry about this?

"You took me away from my job and are keeping me up, and for whatever reason, it's his fault, so forgive me for wanting to know what the fuck he has on you!"

"I'm not trying to keep you up," Hermione said defensively, slowly gaining back her energy and standing up. She didn't sway this time. The mixture of the carbs, hydration, and arguing, she found, was very effective in sobering her up. "By all means, you can go ahead and get your beauty sleep—"

He looked almost… protective. And endearing… but in a strangely threatening way. Endearingly threatening. Was he like this with Astoria? She didn't know why she was thinking about Astoria.

"Oh, how sweet, you're calling me beautiful now? I will say that that bumps up the ranking of this third first impression to my second favorite first impression—"

Did that vein on his forehead always bulge when he got angry? She never noticed before. She remembered the way his arm felt around her waist again. She would rather have that right now than his yelling.

"Shut up, Malfoy—"

"My absolute favorite first impression was the broken hand, of course. At least I got a book out of it—"

Before she could respond, she watched as Crookshanks hopped off the couch and strolled toward them. She expected him to nuzzle against her legs, but was surprised to see him tread against Malfoy's calf.

"I see you've... met my cat," she said. She tried to hold back the shock in her voice at her pet's liking to the blonde man.

"A cat? Is that what that is? I thought it was just an overly confident guinea pig."

She couldn't believe it. She hated how Crookshanks' liking to him made him look more charming. She looked at Malfoy's face, which looked… different somehow. She found herself noticing details she never cared for before – the way his jawline curved into his chin sharply. The way she could see his jaw protrude slightly as he clenched. How very nicely fitted his robes looked on him. The sleek way his almost silver blonde hair combed over. She liked it when he had his hands in his pockets. He looked… less threatening and laidback. Effortless. Like he knew how attractive he was, even when criticizing her and her cat.

Crookshanks never liked Ron.

"The first rule in this house is to never insult Crookshanks," she stated sternly. "Ron would take any chance he could get to insult him, despite the fact that he's a very good judge of character and was able to spot Peter Pettigrew as a rat."

"He seems to like me, so clearly this means I am a good character because the little puffball says so," he said self-assuredly, lifting his chin aristocratically. She watched the curves of his neck extend. Was every inch of this man alluring?

"And any man of good character deserves some gratitude for tonight's events, but since you are clearly inept tonight to show any grace, I'll let it slide—"

Her eyes landed on his blasted tie. The one he probably bought from Malkin's. It was pale blue and had a subtle crossed embroidered pattern, similar to the one he had chosen for Harry and Ron. The color complemented his eyes and hair quite spectacularly. Git knew exactly what he was doing. She wondered how soft his shirt must be behind that tie. How toned was his bare chest underneath? Judging from the way his robes were fitted around him so perfectly…

For heaven's sake – was he still yelling at her?

She blinked. "Are you about done bashing my rash decisions for tonight?"

"Not quite, Granger. I believe I deserve an explanation for whatever the hell that was with McLanky—"

A renewed energy coursed through her and the blood rushed to her cheeks. Why wouldn't he stop talking about McLaggen? How much did he want to rub in her flawed way of handling the situation? He already knew more than her friends. How did he slither into her personal life and chance upon this? He already witnessed the worst memory of her life. She felt her left arm itch at the thought. Did he really feel entitled to more of her brokenness?

"I don't need to explain anything I don't want to!"

"Maybe you don't bloody well want to, but maybe you should. That was fucking unacceptable and disturbing. And the fact that you, out of all people, the one who so often speaks for justice, let him get away with that? What does he have on you, Granger? Why would you let somebody like him let go of what you stand for?"

His words hit a deep part of herself she had almost forgotten. Sometimes fighting and speaking out against justice was the easier part — the harder part was feeling like she deserved what she fought for. She wished she knew more Occlumency to hide away these feelings. She suddenly wanted to cry and blamed the alcohol flowing through her.

"What do you care, Malfoy? How does the way I decide to handle my problems concern you at all?"

"I don't have to care to see that there is something inherently wrong—"

The last couple hours felt like a blur, but now that she was relatively sober, the events became clearer and clearer. She fought down the embarrassment. She had asked him if he could stay for a bit at her place. What was she doing asking that of Draco Malfoy? To be fair, it was also strange on his part to say yes to her absurd and out-of-character request, but all of their conversations were anything but normal.

He kept yelling at her. Like what he said mattered to her. As if his opinion held any weight in her life. But didn't it? Didn't his words always catch her attention? Did she not spend hours and hours thinking of all the words he ever said to her before his trial? Aside from the petty insults about her blood and appearance when they were in school, he very accurately called out her character. Her values. He challenged her own worldview as much as her existence challenged his. Malfoy may had seen her in a much different light than anyone else in her life, but it didn't mean his view of her was incorrect. He was right about her in fifth year. She really had seen the world in black and white – in good and bad. She did not understand how people could be on Voldemort's side. She couldn't fathom different definitions of cowardice and self-preservation before that conversation with him.

She thought she knew what she would do if she were in his shoes. If she had to kill their headmaster to save his family. Wasn't she the one who obliviated her parents to save them? Maybe it wasn't the same, but she had essentially changed their lives without their consent or knowledge to protect them. She killed herself off to save her family. Everything she did was for the better of the world – it was all to protect Muggles, her parents, and everyone else, right? She broke countless laws to get what she wanted. Did it not make sense for him to make decisions just as foolishly to preserve the life he knew?

"I get it, Malfoy. You are redeemed and different and kind after all these years – you don't have to go around trying to prove it."

"I don't need to prove anything to you, Granger. Don't think you can get away with projecting your bloody feelings onto me just because you don't want to deal with your rubbish. No need to be so childish."

That was a bold assumption that was unfortunately correct.

"Get a grip and deal with it instead of throwing yourself a lonesome pity celebration. It was your best friends' wedding, Granger. And you let McLard ruin the tail end of it?"

"Honestly, Malfoy, shut up!" Hermione almost screamed. All of his words felt like All of his words felt like shards of glass being thrown at her gut – swiping against her body in invisible marks. She did not want to be called out by him. This multifaceted Draco Malfoy who apparently was an expert in spotting trauma symptoms was the last thing she needed tonight. She needed simple, predictable Malfoy, who argued just to argue – not for a purpose. Their conversations were not supposed to have purpose.

But even when she thought this, she knew she was in denial.

Malfoy and Hermione experienced about a dozen significant interactions out of their school years, but all of them were signifiant. Like synchronicities. Meaningful coincidences.

Damn you, Matteo, Hermione thought.

"Who's to say I'm not working on it right now, Malfoy? Who are you to assume anything?"

"Because look at how you've been dealing with it. Have you seen yourself tonight? Not telling your friends? Weasley didn't even know. Weasley! Aren't you both bonded despite the fact that you're no longer dating? And not to mention that you got wasted at your best friends' wedding and talked to no one but your two least favorite men at the end of the night. Believe me, I would rather not group myself in a category with that oaf, but let's face it – we are both not your first, second, or fiftieth choice in company."

"You have no right to criticize me!" she yelled on the verge of tears. "You don't know me–"

"Oh, cut the shit, Granger. We may have only had a handful of real interactions at Hogwarts and even though all of them were brief and we were constantly telling one another off, they weren't typical or fun," he said darkly.

Hermione's defenses started to crumble.

Those conversations were brief and strange and were – like all of their interactions – like accidental realities. When he told her to hide at the Quidditch World Cup… when he found her heartbroken from Ron after the Yule Ball… when she found out about his mission from Voldemort… she didn't want to think of the others, but hell did she remember them.

She didn't know why she held onto the completely false belief that Malfoy was predictable and deceitful. She didn't know why she decided to hold onto the negative interactions they had in-between rather than the few that mattered. She either had to judge him from the dozens of poor interactions over those years or the very few not-so-good, but significant conversations. She could not, for the life of her, mesh both.

"That's irrelevant–"

"Oh, it's irrelevant? It's irrelevant that every conversation I've had with you this week has followed this rubbish theme of me being disingenuous? Just because you've been shit at dealing with your problems doesn't give you the right to question my integrity!"

"And just because you have redeemed yourself and have become some well-known philanthropist, doesn't make you some sort of sage who knows the best solution to everybody's problems! What do you want me to say to you, Malfoy? You are not even a part of my life! Why do you even care if I say anything or not?"

"It's not about caring about you as an individual, it's about how bloody disgusting people like McLaggen–"

"So what do you want me to say?" Hermione yelled. Her face went pinker and her eyes became tearful. "Do you want me to tell you what McLaggen did to me? What I did for him? Or about how that's not the only time that something like that happened?"

What in the world was she doing telling him that? She wanted to take it back. He already knew too much. More than her closest friends. Her hands started to tremble and she didn't care if he noticed.

"I don't know who you think you are, Malfoy, but you only happened this week–"

"Granger, I get that we haven't seen each other for several years, but you know just as much as I do that we aren't strangers. We were never anything even close to friends, but we weren't mortal fucking enemies. You…" He stopped himself abruptly, closing his eyes as if he were trying to block off something. He opened them and she expected to see them blank and occluded, but he had not been able to do it all the way. He was vulnerable.

"I what, Malfoy? What?"

"You saw me agonizing, Granger! You saw me the day Dumbledore–"

Both of them fell silent. The air sucked out of the room. Malfoy swallowed uncomfortably.

"You saw me hours before it and right after. You fucking saw me," he said, his voice faltering.

\\\

Hermione's breath was heavy as she ran through the castle with Ron and Ginny. They had each taken a small sip of the rest of Harry's Felix Felicis, just as he told them to. Masked Death Eaters shouted Unforgiveables toward them and they somehow missed, despite the fact that they were just a few meters apart. She breathlessly cast stunning spells and the protective charms she only just started teaching herself around her.

"Dumbledore is dead!" she heard somebody yell. She stopped in her tracks and her face blanched. No... it couldn't be true.

She effectively dodged a stunning spell aimed toward her and ran.

She lost her friends in the horde of screamed spells. She tripped over unconscious bodies and was stumbling past the courtyard when she saw him. A flash of platinum blonde hair.

"Keep that bushy head of yours down tonight, Granger."

He had warned her. She didn't think – she ran after him on the grounds because she had to know. She had to know if he was the one who did it. She called after him and he stopped running in his tracks. She collided with his chest as he turned around. He kept her upright and caught her by the arms firmly. They stood several meters away from the courtyard, shadowed by a large tree. She suspected the Felix Felicis had something to do with the fact that not a soul was around them. For whatever reason, luck wanted to be on her side during this conversation with Draco Malfoy.

Her words came flooding out.

"What's happened? I keep hearing – but it can't be – he couldn't have – you! – where are you going?" Hermione rambled manically.

"Get out of here, Granger! You'll get yourself killed!" He promptly let go of her and stepped back, his arms shaking as if she burned him.

Far ahead of him, Bellatrix yelled, "Draco! Where are you, nephew? Keep up!"

Hermione fought to drown out the cries from the courtyard.

She slowly backed away from him and shook her head. He couldn't have done it.

"You didn't – you couldn't–"

"I didn't and I couldn't because I'm too much of a bloody coward! Is that what you want to hear, Granger? Your self-righteous pureblood Slytherin bully is calling himself a damn coward and will probably be killed for it!"

He sounded hoarse, as if he were losing the ability to speak, but sought to be the loudest he could be anyway. He sounded like the embodiment of self-sabotage.

"You are full of it, Malfoy! Pathetic!" Anger creeped into her chest like a storm. Her face heated as color rose to her cheeks despite herself, despite what he had just gone through. He was complicit in the death of their headmaster and he only focused on himself? Who did he think he was? Echoes from their conversation in Transfiguration fifth year came to mind.

"Don't act like we weren't born on opposing sides, Granger. Choices and cowardice look very different where I grew up."

Even in the heat of this one-sided argument, warmth and understanding found its way its way into her heart. The world didn't evenly split between good and bad – choices weren't black and white. Just like the color of the eyes her own brown ones bored into, Malfoy lived in the grey of her absolutes.

"This isn't about you! So you couldn't be trusted with the one task You-Know-Who gave you? That must be so hard for you! But Malfoy – this is the start of a war. Stop acting like your potential death is the one that will matter in the end!" she yelled, stepping closer to him, willing him to hear her. To understand that there was an entire world outside of his own head.

He laughed eerily. Paired with the grayness under his eyes and the worry lines across his face, he looked like a boy who was losing the last bit of sanity he had left. She hated it. He didn't sound like himself. She needed him to spit insults back at her like second nature. She needed his wit intact and trademark smirk in place.

"What was it you said a couple years ago? That we'll all end up being put in the ground? Dirt, worms, maggots, and all?"

She was surprised to hear that he remembered anything she said. Suddenly, they were two years younger. His face was clear of bruises and well-rested. The doors of the Great Hall stood behind him with the muffled sounds of the Weird Sisters performing at the Yule Ball. She remembered the fleeting look of fear fly across his face at her words of them ending up in the same place when all was said and done. It was the look of somebody whose worldview was changing. The faint flicker of a light.

"Looks like you're learning, Malfoy. Now get a grip and stop feeling sorry for yourself. You're already annoying as it is sans the self-pity."

She wondered if anyone had ever seen him like this. He was broken – it was the only way to describe it. He looked underfed and pale. Bruises trailed down his skin and disappeared into the collar around his neck. She saw the tears wanting to form in his eyes and the deep sorrow that hid within them. Her heart crumbled at the sight. He didn't deserve this. He was so young – they were all so young. The war may have only started for her, but he had been feeling it all year. All her problems from the last several months felt juvenile and weak. She cried over Ron while he prepared himself to murder one of the most powerful wizards who ever lived.

"Malfoy…" Her voice shook as she said his name.

"You saw me today. You saw me last month in the library. You saw me today, Granger. You fucking saw me." His voice shook. She noticed his hands trembling, tensing with anxiety. She had never seen him so vulnerable, pleading with her to understand what he was trying to say. At this moment, she knew for a fact that she was the only one who would hold this image of Draco Malfoy. She didn't know how to feel about having such a personal piece of him.

Hermione swallowed and nodded. As it did every time these profound conversations with him occurred, she felt the world tilt. Like it didn't mean for this interaction to happen, but it did.

"You're the bleeding heart mudblood Gryffindor and if you don't fucking see me, Granger–"

Mudblood. When he said it, the word was empty. It held no power or meaning.

Bellatrix screamed his name again, far off into the distance. Malfoy snapped back to his senses and jumped, his heavy eyes widening in fear as his face contorted into as much scorn as he could fake.

"Get away from me! Now! You – you filthy little mudblood!" he yelled pathetically, backing away from her.

Unphased, Hermione yelled, "Wait, Malfoy! Look at me. Look at me!" She purposely grabbed his covered left forearm. She curled her fingers around where she knew his Dark Mark hid.

He looked down at her hand and then locked his eyes back to hers. Grey to brown.

"Yes, I'm the bleeding heart mudblood Gryffindor, and I think you're a pureblood coward – but not when it came to this. You are an absolute prick, but you don't deserve to die."

His entire being changed. His eyes lifted. She saw a piece of the annoying Malfoy she knew creep back in. Color returned to his face as if more life had been breathed into him.

"You've treated me like rubbish all this time, but it doesn't mean I think you should die." She hated this. She hated this war. She hated Voldemort. She hated feeling soft for the culprit of all the most hurtful insults thrown her way over the years. She suddenly began to worry for her parents. She wondered if her friends would make it out alive tonight. They had to. She had to. The boy standing before her had to live too.

She let go of him to reach for something in her robes. She cast water into it and held the glass in front of him.

"An empty vial?" he questioned, brushing her fingers with his as he took hold of it.

"There might remnants of it coating the sides. Felix Felicis. I doubt any luck in the world could protect you, but you'll find a way to live, I think."

"If this is actually poison, Granger, I'd rather be killed by you than him." He was teasing her.

Trust masked in distrust. He didn't even question her. He drank it. What a strange thing for him to trust her with anything at all.

"For crying out loud, Malfoy. Don't be daft now – RUN!"

\\\

Hermione's head threatened to explode. He was right. She saw him then and she saw him in front of her now. He went from being obsessed with his own survival to lecturing her on standing up for herself. When did that happen?

"Just because I saw you that day doesn't mean–" she started faintly.

"What doesn't it mean? I wasn't the only one who accidentally exposed myself, Granger. I saw you too."

"What are you talking ab–"

"We were at each other's throats constantly, but you still encouraged me, a freshly-Dark Marked Death Eater, to seek help from the headmaster I was ordered to kill? I was an arsehole to you more than anyone, and you told me that I didn't deserve to die? You gave me the rest of the Felix Felicis! Do those events not make it glaringly obvious who a person is?"

"So who am I then, Malfoy? If you're such an expert into my character and who I am – tell me!" Hermione said, crossing her arms.

She felt many different things, but she chose to feel the anger and hurt and frustration as she walked up to him, pointing at him intimidatingly.

"You're a prick, Malfoy."

He looked like he couldn't breathe. Like he was trying not to throw up. He always seemed to look so unsettled like this whenever she was close.

"Don't you dare tell me what I need to do in my own flat! Just because you apparently have it all figured out, doesn't mean you get to decide how others figure their things out!" she yelled.

He looked into her eyes so intensely and if she admitted it to herself, she would've let herself notice his gaze drop down to her lips for a fraction of a second in the heat of her rant.

"You may not be as bigoted as you once were, Malfoy, but you are still a royal pain—"

"Shut up, Granger!" he yelled as he stepped back, snapping his eyes shut. "It's past midnight and I'm sick of this and your screeching!"

"Screeching?" she seethed offensively.

"Enjoy the hangover," he said shortly, turning away from her. "Clearly my services today have not been appreciated. Deal with your shit how you want to. I've got to go get my beauty sleep, as you call it."

"What—"

He Disapparated, and for some reason, she felt betrayed. She was alone.

Reality sunk in. She no longer had Malfoy to distract her. It turned out he did do a spectacular job in keeping her awake after all.

She stared ahead of her at the spot he just disappeared from as she stumbled back into the couch.

The temperature in the room skyrocketed and the alarm bells in her head began to ring with abandon.

\\\

"HOW DID YOU GET INTO MY VAULT?" Bellatrix screeched as she simultaneously grabbed Hermione and strengthened the Cruciatus Curse on her writhing body.

"I-I didn't!" she stuttered, tears squeezing out the corners of her eyes.

"CRUCIO!"

Her screams echoed eerily throughout Malfoy Manor.

Where did she go wrong? She didn't generally believe in karma, but as she experienced the worst pain of her life, she wondered what she could have possibly done to deserve this. All she wanted was to be a good person. She wanted everyone to feel like they mattered. Everything she did was for the good of everybody around her.

And what did she get for nobility?

Bellatrix took out her blade and roughly grabbed Hermione's arm.

"TELL ME, MUDBLOOD! HOW DID YOU GET INTO MY VAULT?"

"Please! No! I didn't take-"

She screamed.

Hermione had never wanted to die before. She always believed there was so much left to do - so much left to fight for. But right now, as Bellatrix carved into her skin, death seemed like the best alternative, the best answer to this war.

She thought of all the times she was called 'mudblood' and made to feel less than, dirty, and worthy of being hunted. When Bellatrix hit her particularly hard with another Cruciatus Curse, Hermione's back arched until she saw the room upside down. Malfoy came into view as she twisted back. She met his eyes, and in that second, she saw two things in her mind's eye:

She saw 12-year-old Draco say, "You filthy little mudblood."

Then, she saw him at 16-years-old say, "You're the bleeding heart mudblood Gryffindor and if you don't fucking see me, Granger-" She saw him beg for her to understand. She saw him desperately seek the approval of her, the muggleborn he had been insulting for several years.

In that one second where their eyes met, she saw concern despite his pale and stoic expression. In that one second, he nodded imperceptibly as he swallowed hard. It was a nod that communicated volumes - she could almost hear him say in his typical argumentative voice, "You better live through this, Granger, or I'll kill you myself."

Then, the one second passed, and her mind went dark as the pain exploded in her body.

At some point, Hermione couldn't hear anything except her own screams. She knew Bellatrix continued to question her, but all she could do was cry in response to the Cruciatus Curse and the knife being dragged purposefully across her forearm.

"Don't forget who you are, mudblood." Bellatrix spat in her face.

Tears continued to spill from Hermione's eyes in streams when she saw what she carved into her arm.

Mudblood.

\\\

Hermione stared at the faded scar that would forever remain on her arm from that day. Hyperventilating from her panic, she scratched at it rapidly as if she could make it disappear.

"Get off, get off, GET OFF!" she cried.

She left pink streaks atop her arm from her nails. In her distress, she almost wanted to dig to the source of the scar underneath her skin. She didn't want it there anymore. She wanted to stop having to cover her arms in the summer. She didn't want a glaring reminder of what happened to her and all the ways that she had failed.

She held all her mistakes and shame and guilt in that wound and it was never going to go away. Ron once told her to look at her scar as a symbol of all she has been able to overcome, but it didn't help. She could only see it as a symbol of everything she couldn't do. Of all the lives she couldn't save. Of what she did to her parents. Of all the unspeakable things she let happen to her. Of all the ways she was hurting herself.

Crookshanks noticed what his owner was doing and climbed onto her arm to cover the scar out of sight. She stopped, seemingly coming back to her senses, horrified at her thoughts.

But she still couldn't breathe. Her eyes snapped shut and all she could see now was darkness.

\\\

One of the Snatchers grabbed her. The one obsessed with her scent, who had her scarf wrapped around his neck. "I'm going to take this one with me for a little bit, if you don't mind."

Bellatrix looked slightly disturbed, but gestured for him to carry on. She laughed as the Snatcher dragged Hermione toward an empty room in the Manor. She could vaguely hear the sound of her name being screamed by Ron in the dungeon underneath them, trying to get to her. She looked around for anyone with a shred of goodness in the room. Her eyes searched for Malfoy, but he was gone.

She could barely keep herself up or stand on her own from the effects of the torture. She was hardly conscious when her clothes were ripped off her body.

"I'm going to have fun with you today, mudblood."

She had never felt more powerless in her life. Unable to move, she cried silently. The blood dripped from her new scar as the Snatcher moved against her.

\\\

Hermione grabbed at the hair at her scalp as she cried hysterically. She screamed into her empty flat as she lived her worst memories again and again.

Fuck you, Malfoy, she thought to herself bitterly.

She could blame him for bringing up these memories, for not knowing when to stop, and for being overly critical and judgmental of somebody he hadn't seen in years. She could blame him for that, yet she couldn't stop blaming herself for everything else.

If only she were stronger.

If only she screamed for help when the Snatcher roughly touched her.

If only she didn't remain silent. Maybe somebody would have come help her. Maybe–

Before the night ended, she was able to see the intensity of the memories fade and felt her brain become less foggy.

She had so much left to say to Malfoy – and she knew he could have lectured her for hours on her poor coping skills – but he had quit. Even she could admit that she was losing the argument, but he still left abruptly. Why did it matter that he left? Wasn't this what she wanted? For him to leave and be out of her life and not question anything about her?

But she had told him not to leave her while she was like this. She had asked him to stay so this wouldn't happen. But he left.

She curled up in bed with Crookshanks next to her and attempted to fall asleep before she could think about him any more.

She reflected, again, on all the ways she had been touched. By Bellatrix. By the Snatcher. By McLaggen. And then by Malfoy. Passing potions ingredients. Steadying her by the arms. Colliding into his chest. Mending his hand.

Despite her efforts, the last thing she thought about was how it felt to have Malfoy's arm around her waist.

Safe. After so many years of defending others and keeping the world in place – was it okay for her to feel protected and grounded too?

a/n: our girl sure has a lot to work on. we've gotten to the crux of hermione's traumas – there's a bit more to add to that mix, but not as heavy as this. please leave a review/follow for this tough chapter if you so wish!

btw, as of april 23, i've been adding/polishing things here and there to past chapters. nothing major has changed, but i did add another lil' flashback to chapter 4 that takes place when they're at the quidditch world cup. it doesn't really change the way the story reads, but they do reference that particular memory here and there. i also added a bit of what draco does for a living in chapter 2. if you've been keeping up with this story for a while and are interested in backtracking and seeing all my edits, that's mainly what you missed!