The heat was positively blistering in the library despite the fact that it was close to the end of October. Hermione pushed an out-of-control curl out of her eyes as she once again looked longingly out the window at the cool Black Lake, its waters creating an almost perfect reflection of the autumn sky. "Whoever came up with the idea of building a dreary library with a perfect view of an escape was a complete idiot," she grumbled, furiously scribbling notes on a piece of parchment.
Beside her, Draco nodded absentmindedly. "I never thought you'd be one to call a library 'dreary'," he said, smiling as he pretended to accidentally brush the top of his feather quill against her cheek.
Playfully swatting at Draco's quill, Hermione grinned as she absentmindedly ran a hand over the opposite side of her face. After Draco's explosion in the potions room a couple weeks ago, they had tidied up the room in a sort of hurried silence. As soon as everything had been righted, Hermione had dashed off to her dorm and had removed the glass shards from her cheek. Unfortunately, the jar had obviously been used to house Venomous Tentacula; the glass left deep angry cuts all over her face that Hermione was certain would scar. No charm had yet been invented that could un-scar skin that had been in contact with Venomous Tentacula, although Hermione had found a spell that would minimize the size of the marks and lighten the colour of the damaged skin. So far her recovery had been going well, some of the smaller cuts already fading into thin white lines.
In order to spare Draco the guilt he would undeniably feel at seeing her somewhat destroyed left cheek, Hermione had cast a glamour over the left side of her face. Shaking her head, Hermione made a mental note that she really needed to stop touching her cheek if she wanted to be subtle about her disguise.
Hermione groaned loudly as Madame Pince walked by waving her wand. "How many bloody heating charms can that witch put on this library?" Hermione hissed, sending a minor cooling charm after the ancient librarian.
Draco shrugged. "Obviously she finds the October weather too cold."
"Yes," Hermione said exasperatedly, "we all do. But a warming charm is one thing – seven warming charms on top of one another in a confined space is an entirely different ballgame." When Draco didn't react, Hermione sighed, annoyed. "And you, wearing that bloody woolen sweater! I don't even know how you manage that without internally combusting."
The Slytherin snorted as he flipped through the rather large, rather dusty tome that he was perusing. He and Hermione were spending their free Saturday afternoon not out with their friends in Hogsmeade, not out in Diagon Alley, not out in muggle London, and not outside on the campus during what was sure to be one of the last nice days of the year. Instead, they were stuck inside the library researching stupid potions to make with their third year class of Slytherins and Ravenclaws.
Hermione was searching desperately through her book for a potion that would cause the drinker to laugh uncontrollably (much like the rictus sempra spell, but in liquid form) so that she could make a connection with the third year Charms class. Lavender had begged Hermione to try and find just such a potion so that she could make the class connection, as Hermione and Draco's class had become the favourite of many students almost overnight. "Maybe it'd, you know, peak their interest more?" Lavender had suggested, not quite meeting Hermione's eyes.
Turning her page with a bit too much force, Hermione mentally pushed Lavender down a particularly steep set of stairs. Lazy, good for nothing flirt, not doing any work….
"Hey, did you hear about Seamus?"
Draco's deep voice was a willing distraction from the letters that were blurring in front of Hermione's vision. "No," she answered, "I didn't. Did he show up for his TA class?"
"Apparently he not only showed up, but he blew everyone out of the water." Draco looked up from his book and grinned lopsidedly at Hermione. "McGonagall was talking to Slughorn about it last night, and I caught the end of the conversation; according to the grape vine, Seamus burst in with a muggle moving box full of stuff and taught an absolutely brilliant lesson about the First Wizard-Goblin War. He taught those students more in one class than they'd learned in six years with Binns."
Hermione smiled. "So, McGonagall knew what she was doing when she put Dean as Binn's TA?"
"Definitely," Draco nodded. "He just needed to get over his stupid pride."
When the Slytherin looked down at his book again, Hermione sighed. Back to endless searching. Suddenly, the word "optimism" caught her eye and Hermione stopped flipping pages. Quickly scanning the paragraph, she broke into a wide grin. "Draco!" she said, her voice unnaturally high and squeaky. "I think I found it!"
Draco, equally excited and relieved, leaned over to see Hermione's page. "Optimism Draught? The title sounds perfect, at least…."
Hermione's finger was trailing slowly down the page, her eyes flickering back and forth to read the instructions. "It doesn't look all that difficult," she said.
"But wait," Draco interjected, reaching in front of Hermione and pointing at the ingredients list. "Do we have enough fruit bat wings for bulk distribution?"
Just as Hermione was about to respond, she noticed that Draco's sweater had caught on the edge of the book and had pulled up to just above his wrist, revealing pale skin. What drew her attention, however, was not the pale colour, nor the sudden appearance of this skin; rather, it was the angry red line across Draco's wrist.
Like a movie on rewind, Hermione's mind sent her spinning into the past. The strangely stained schedule. Draco's concerns about privacy. His strange fidget. His conversation with McGonagall. The long-sleeved shirts. A dozen different puzzle pieces clicked into place before Hermione's eyes, and her heart froze as she stared at that one line that changed everything. It was so similar to the lines that Harry had covered his body with in sixth year, but this scar seemed to represent so much more; Draco, the ever-stable, ever stoic, was in so much pain that he had broken his own skin to relieve the pressure.
Silently, she raised Draco's arm so that it extended straight out from his body towards her. Hermione lightly placed three fingers on top of the scar on Draco's wrist, gently tracing the jagged line. The Slytherin tensed beneath her touch, but didn't pull back. Hermione looked up and met Draco's panicked grey eyes, and noticed that his chest was barely moving; he was holding his breath.
Not breaking eye contact with Draco, Hermione pushed the thick woolen sweater up to just above Draco's elbow. Giving him a reassuring slow blink, she looked down at the now exposed forearm and worked very hard to remain silent. Scars crisscrossed the entire area, some of them fresh and still bleeding, others very old and severe. One scar ran all the way from Draco's wrist to the crook of his elbow; obviously a suicide attempt. Hermione's heart fell through her ribcage and onto the floor, her eyes staying remarkably dry. The only thought circling through her mind was, Oh Merlin Draco, what are you doing….
Reaching hesitantly for Draco's other arm, Hermione looked up at the blonde again. Draco was looking back at her, his head tilted, tears gathering in his usually guarded eyes. Wordlessly, he extended his other arm and let Hermione roll up the sweater sleeve. Draco's right arm was just as bad as, if not worse than, his left arm, and Hermione felt a strangled sound attempt to leave her throat. She pushed it back down.
Slowly and gently, Hermione traced the matching pair of thick, old scars all the way from Draco's wrists to his elbows, feeling the irregularities, dips, and raises in the white skin. She heard a ragged sob come from Draco, and her eyes jerked up to meet Draco's once more. The blonde was trembling, and he was biting his lip in an attempt to hold back tears that were going to fall anyways. Something inside of Hermione broke when she saw this strong, stubborn young man on the verge of tears, and she felt his pain echoing in her own chest.
Knowing that words would shatter the spun-glass bubble that had formed around herself and Draco, Hermione brought her finger up to her lips lightly and kissed the tip. Draco watched her, his eyes showing confusion amidst the pain. Giving him a sad smile, Hermione placed her finger over a small, fresh scar mid-way up Draco's left arm. As she traced the barely-scabbed-over cut, the skin knit together and glowed silver before returning to its pristine pre-scar condition. Draco's eyes widened, and a single tear fell from his left eye.
Preparing to brush away the traitorous sign of his emotions, Draco tensed the muscles in his arms. Hermione, however, applied a light pressure to Draco's forearms as if to say, "no". She watched as the tear cut a track down Draco's face, falling down his cheek and travelling onto his neck and into his sweater collar. Still not wishing to speak, Hermione used her healing spell on several other fresh scars, making Draco's skin appear brand new in select areas. She treated each scar with the same reverence, the same delicacy as the first one, and by the time she had healed all the recent cuts there were silent tears streaking down Draco's face.
Judging by the size and length of the scars, Hermione guessed that Draco was using razor blades. The two suicide scars, however, were much thicker than the others; A knife, maybe? Or a scissor blade? Hermione's thoughts were swirling around her mind, trying to piece together when and how Draco could've tried to end his life. Before the battle? After? During?
Having learned a strong spell for scar-removal while on the run with Harry and Ron in seventh year, she knew that she could heal the rest of Draco's scars. But something inside her told her that these old scars were more emotional, more personal than any of the fresh marks on Draco's body. Taking a deep breath, Hermione lifted Draco's arm up so that it was almost parallel with her shoulder. The blonde watched her actions, resigned; his curiosity had faded, and he was obviously waiting for the inevitable moment where Hermione would stand up and leave the table in disgust.
Hermione, however, refused to fulfill Draco's expectations. Looking purposefully at Draco for several heartbeats, she spoke volumes with her eyes.
"It's ok."
"I'm with you."
"You can cry in front of me."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"We can get through this together."
Willing her words to travel from her mind to Draco's, Hermione held his gaze for a moment more before turning to face his still-scarred arms. Lifting his right arm even further, Hermione leaned her head over so that she was only millimeters away from Draco's abused skin. Closing her eyes, Hermione pressed her lips lightly to the beginning of the first elbow-to-wrist scar. Slowly tracing the path of the scar with her lips, eyes still shut, Hermione placed light feathery kisses all the way up Draco's forearm, not missing a micrometer of the damaged skin. When she pulled away from his arm, the mark was glowing silver as it faded into his arm.
Not looking up at Draco, Hermione did the same to the matching long scar on his left arm, her lips causing the mark to vanish. When she finally did raise her head, Draco's arms were almost perfectly smooth, only two light white lines showing where the monstrous suicide scars had been.
Draco was staring at her in disbelief, tears still silently dropping from his eyes and getting lost amidst the fibers of his sweater collar. Swallowing thickly, Draco appeared to be searching for words. Hermione sat silently, holding Draco's hands, her soul open for him to see. "Why?" he finally croaked, the word floating in the air between them. "Why are you still here?"
Answering his question with a question, Hermione asked him, "Why would I leave?"
Choking back a loud sob, Draco shook his head. "No one stays," he said, his voice low. "They all leave when they figure out what….what I do to myself. How weak I am." Draco looked down at the ground, pulling his hands away from Hermione.
Refusing to let him go, Hermione grabbed one of Draco's wrists and used her free hand to tilt his chin gently back up so that his eyes met hers. "You are not weak," she said firmly. "Draco Malfoy, you are the strongest person I know. Right here, right now, I promise you that I will never ever leave you. Never."
Draco's eyes searched hers for any sign of deception, and grew wide when they found none. "Why?" he asked again, almost a whisper. "Why would you stay with me?"
Hermione was silent for a moment, not breaking her eye contact. "Because…because I really care about you, Draco," she finally said, a bit hesitant. "Because I hate to think that you're hurting, and because I want you to be happy. Because you can't find your path by yourself, and I want to help."
Silence stretched between the two of them, neither one breaking their eye contact and neither one moving. After what felt like at least seven eternities, Draco blinked. "You mean it?" he whispered.
"With all of my heart."
A strange feeling spread through Hermione's chest, and suddenly she knew how to convince the skeptical young man in front of her. Letting go of Draco's arm, she reached for her own sweater sleeve and rolled it up to her elbow. With a wave, Hermione cancelled her glamour; there, on her left forearm where the Dark Mark would be, was the word 'mudblood' carved into her skin. She had tried to remove it with spells, but the best she could do was minimize the scarring so that the letters were thin, almost-flat white lines. Every time she looked at her arm, Hermione would be transported back to the mansion, and the dark, and the blood….but this time, she stayed with Draco.
Looking up, Hermione saw Draco's eyes trace over the letters. He had seen Bellatrix carve them into her skin, and had seen the black knife pressed against Hermione's throat. He had stopped his aunt, pausing her for the few seconds it took for Dobby to bring Harry and Ron back upstairs. He had saved her life, and this was the concrete proof. With clear eyes, Draco looked up at Hermione and she looked back, determined.
Suddenly the space between Draco and Hermione was too vast, and the two of them drew closer together on the library bench. The attraction was almost magnetic, with Hermione fitting herself perfectly against Draco's chest and Draco's arms finding exactly the right spots around Hermione's waist. One of his hands lightly traced the scars on her forearm, while one of Hermione's hands lingered on his scars. Draco's nose was pressed lightly against Hermione's forehead, and Hermione's chin rested lightly on his shoulder. "I'll never leave you," she whispered, her breath causing the hair on Draco's neck to rise. "I promise."
Draco looked down at Hermione just as Hermione moved to look up at Draco, and in that second everything crashed together in a furious explosion of emotion. Draco leaned down, Hermione stretched up, and their lips met in a searing yet tender kiss with which they promised to give each other the world. His hand tangled in her hair, and her hands wrapped around his neck, they felt united, happy, needed, and – finally – complete.
A/N: Ok, here it is! ON TIME, HURRAAAAHHHH! Thanks everyone for sticking with me, I hope that you like this next installment. The next chapter should be heading your way by Saturday (October 27th) at the latest. Please R&R, you'll make my day. :) ~sneakyslytherin