A contraceptive spell and two Tylenol later, Hermione sat in the Group Therapy room, waiting for the others to finish with her memories. They'd entered into the pensive, each of them holding hands as Walt dipped a finger into the swirling liquid, and were pulled from the room in a whirl of colors that shocked Hermione. She'd never seen someone entering a pensieve before, not when she wasn't going along as well, and it didn't resemble the immediate disappearance of Disapparition or the snatch out of the air when taking a Portkey. This looked more like a shrinking, a spin in the air and a technicolor whirl, like in a Saturday morning cartoon.
They'd been gone for twenty minutes or so, and Hermione wished she'd brought a book as she sat tapping her trainers against the tile.
Not that I could've actually read it, she thought as she shook her hands out by her sides again, trying to stop their trembling.
She'd shown Draco all those that she thought would affect him the most, the ones where she'd been hurt – the Ministry, Godric's Hollow, Greyback, his home – but when she'd been sharing them with him, she'd left out obliviating her parents and her first magical explosion. These were certainly important, an integral piece of the overall puzzle titled "All the Reasons Hermione Granger is Fucked Up," but after she'd seen how much her memories were affecting him, she just wanted to be done. She was sure Draco would have something to say about it when they made it back to his room later, but at the time, she'd just wanted to pull him out of the downward spiral he was in following the Legilimency into her mind.
She hadn't actually thought of her first magical explosion in a while, having so many similar instances that replaced that one now, but she thought going back to the first one gave a clearer example of how far gone she'd been less than a year ago.
She'd been at one of the many Muggle bars she'd frequented since the war ended, reveling in the anonymity of it all, being able to hide in the shadows and no longer be seen as "The Golden Girl" or "Harry Potter's Mudblood" or some equally arbitrary moniker she'd been given over the years. She'd slip in and drink alone, unnoticed by those coming in after a day at work to drink with their friends or a couple out on a date. She'd begun creating stories in her mind for everyone she saw, something she was certain Walt would tell her was some sort of escapism.
After a few weeks of this, she'd gotten a bit more drunk than she usually would, and some man reeking of bourbon and stale cigarettes cornered her outside of the bathroom. He'd been pushy, not reading all her clues that she didn't want to be bothered, and when he'd blocked her path out of the hallway, cornering her, she'd started to panic.
"Come on. Lemme buy ya'round," he'd slurred, his rancid breath hot against her face and his hand brushing against her arm. She could still remember the sticky floors and the feel of his sweaty hands on her skin when he touched her cheek.
She'd pushed him as hard as she could, knocking him on the ground and running from the bar as fast as her legs could carry her, ignoring the cries from the bartender that she'd yet to pay her tab. All of a sudden, the sounds were amplified; the cars on the streets sounded as loud as planes flying overhead. The orange glowing light of the streetlamps was too bright, and she felt momentarily blinded when she stepped out onto the corner.
She was vaguely aware of running headlong into a couple who were trying to walk in, and she heard a disgruntled, "Excuse you!" from behind her as she fled.
Disapparating never once crossed her mind. She'd been consumed with fear – thick dryness in her mouth, her chest feeling like it would cave in at any moment, her legs shaking beneath her – so she ran, faintly hearing people call after her. Looking back now, they'd probably been merely asking if she was okay, but in her mind, she heard Greyback snarling in her ears, she heard her own voice echoing off the walls of Malfoy Manor and cracking as she screamed.
She'd awoken at some point later, disoriented and her hands covered in scratches, in an alley that had been blessedly abandoned. She had no recollection of getting there and certainly no recollection of how the dumpster had become embedded in the heavy brick of the building in front of her, its front caved in as if it'd been made of aluminum foil instead of thick metal.
She'd risen on shaky legs and wiped her hands down her face, looking around for an attacker, whoever had caused the destruction in front of her, but there was only her. When she'd noticed the bleeding in her hands, she'd Disapparated home immediately, and at the time, she had no idea what had happened.
It wasn't until the following week, after waking from a nightmare to find the same bloody nicks in her palms and her desk shattered that she realized it had to have been her.
Suddenly, the same swirl of colors that had twisted around the pensieve when the others had went inside happened again, but in reverse, growing and seeming to rise straight out of the bowl.
Parvati looked like she'd been crying, and Seamus' face was hard-set as he blinked a few times and took his seat. Dennis ran a hand down his face but said nothing, and Hermione thought, this is what it feels like. None of them would look at her, and she glanced at Draco, hoping to find the comfort of grey eyes, but, instead, she felt a sharp pain in her chest, sucking all the air out of her, when his gaze was on the floor instead, his jaws clenched tightly and his arms crossed across his chest.
She couldn't read his expression. She was sure he wasn't mad at her, but she'd been hoping that he'd be looking at her at least, reassuring her. Instead, he'd taken his normal seat, with Alys between them, and hadn't once glanced toward her since the memories were over.
She swallowed, blinking back tears. Why did this hurt? She knew he cared about her. And she knew how he'd felt after her memories last night. Why was it different now? Her mind went back to the night Seamus shared his memories and the way Parvati had supported him through it, holding his hand between her own and reassuring him as he spoke. She hadn't exactly been expecting that, but certainly more than whatever the hell this was.
She felt Nicola's hand on her shoulder and turned to face her. Leave it to Nicola to be the one to look the trauma dead in the face and push through it. Where the others seemed terrified to even look at her following what they'd seen in her mind, Nicola had reassured her with a touch, patting her hand and offering her a soft smile as she took her own seat to Hermione's left.
"Hermione," Walt said, drawing Hermione's attention to him. "I know it couldn't have been easy to share that with us but thank you for doing so." Walt folded his hands in his lap in front of him, his face one of open compassion and nothing else. Hermione wasn't sure she could have mustered the strength to continue if he'd been completely refusing to look at her like most of the others or, even worse, if he'd been giving her that infuriating look of pity.
"Would you like to tell us what made you select those memories in particular?" Walt asked, his eyes blessedly never shying away from hers.
She took a deep breath, thinking back through all the memories she'd shared. Always being one for structure, she thought maybe if she worked her way through them chronologically, it would give her at least a little bit of control over them.
"Well, I chose the battle at the Ministry because that was the first time that I was physically involved in the war really. Prior to that, I'd… I'd fought alongside Harry on a few occasions, but it had never felt like a true war, not fighting against other people who were throwing curses at you. So, that was the first instance where I really understood the full gravity of the fight we had ahead of us."
She'd known a war was coming, and she had never once questioned what side she'd be on or whether or not she'd be fighting, but having to actually fight for her life against adult witches and wizards who didn't think twice about killing her had definitely put the situation into a new perspective for her.
"I almost died from the curse that Dolohov hit me with, there at the end. I found out later it was the Ruptura Curse, and if he hadn't been silenced at the time… well, you can imagine what it would've done. That was the worst pain I've ever been in, and I had to be sedated for almost a week because of it." She swallowed thickly, resisting the urge to touch the scar on her hip as the memory of waking up in the hospital wing resurfaced in her mind. She blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the terrified look on Harry and Remus' faces as she lay there screaming and thrashing.
She realized she hadn't been speaking for a minute and that Walt was still looking at her, waiting for her to go on. All the others were looking at her now at least, except for Draco, she noticed, and the realization felt like a hand fisting around her heart. For some reason, she hadn't been as nervous about sharing her memories tonight, not after having already shared them with Draco and the afternoon they'd had together. But now, with his gaze on the floor, she felt cold.
Alone.
Discarded.
Her chest began to tighten, and she reached for a water bottle beneath her.
Alys turned toward her, whispering, "Are you okay?"
Hermione nodded, hoping no one would notice the way the bottle shook as she pressed it to her lips.
She sat it back down onto the floor, and Alys shifted toward the center of the circle again, but her eyes remained on Hermione.
"Obliviating my parents. I think that one really speaks for itself," Hermione said with a humorless laugh, the sound coming out strange to her ears. "The fight with the snake. At the time, I'd never been more terrified in my life, and I suppose I was close to death then as well. If we hadn't Disapparated when we did, Voldemort would have been right on top of us."
"Remind me to tell Potter he's a fucking idiot," Seamus said. "He certainly wasn't 'chosen' for his brains, was he?"
She looked at him, momentarily shocked by his brazenness before her face split into a massive grin and a nervous bubble of laughter escaped her. "No. No, he wasn't," she said. "But by that point, I think we were both so tired of dead ends that we were anxious for something to happen. And something certainly happened there."
She laughed again, the sound dying slowly as she remembered the memory they had all seen next. Her mouth went dry, and she pushed her hands beneath her, hoping that they'd stop shaking or at least go unnoticed beneath the outside of her thighs.
"The… the next one…" The room felt lighter, like the air had been depleted of all its oxygen. She licked her lips, and looked up at the bright lights above her, willing the tears not to fall from her eyes.
Every single other person who had shared their memories so far had done so without a fucking mental breakdown, and here she was unable to even talk about hers. Nicola, who had certainly gone through a hell of a lot more than Hermione herself had, was able to share her memories without much more than a few tears. Hermione's inner monologue of self-deprecating diatribe had returned with a vengeance, reminding her of her own weakness, her stupidity at having come here in the first place thinking she could be "fixed," and her ridiculous belief that she'd be able to do this at all.
She stood up, her chair screeching across the floor behind her. She tried to tell them she needed a minute, not meeting anyone's gaze, as she ran for the door, knowing the words had come out barely more than a mumbled whisper.
She made it into the safety of the hallway and leaned against the wall beside the door, trying to control her breathing and the raging of her heart.
Potions. Potions. Potions, she thought, like a mantra.
Bubotuber … puss
…
…
Porcupine quills
… aconite…
The tears she'd been fighting slipped from beneath her lashes as she focused on potions ingredients.
Valerian sprigs.
Mistletoe berries.
She clenched her teeth together.
Fermented spider.
Redstone dust.
She opened her eyes.
I can do this.
I deserve to be here.
I'm not weak.
She took a deep breath, her cheeks puffing out as she exhaled.
I'm Hermione fucking Granger.
With one more inhale, she turned, her hand reaching for the doorknob, when the door swung open, and Draco barreled out of it.
She stepped back to keep from colliding into him, and before she had a chance to react, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, one hand on the back of her head and the other between her shoulders.
He said nothing, no arbitrary, "Are you okay?" or senseless "Everything's alright." He just held her, her head resting beneath his chin and his thumb brushing back and forth through her hair.
A single sob betrayed her earlier burst of strength as her arms hooked behind his, her hands clinging to his shoulders. She inhaled deeply, filling herself with the smell of him, grounding her, pulling her back from the breaking point.
At some point she thought she'd need to address the fact that she relied on him so heavily, but right now, she thought of nothing but taking comfort in him, feeling his chest against hers as he breathed and the soothing heaviness of his arms around her.
"I'm sorry." He took a breath that shuddered through him, and she wasn't entirely sure what he was apologizing for. "You said you needed a minute, but I… I had to touch you."
She leaned back a bit, not pulling away from him, but enough to look at him, to find the solace she'd needed from him before. She didn't question his reasoning for not looking at her; Hermione just felt relieved that he was here now, holding onto her. "This is what I needed," she said before kissing him.
"I'm okay," she said, her lips still ghosting across his and her eyes still closed. She wasn't sure if she was speaking more to him or to herself. "I'm okay." She said it again, a bit more emphatically, and pulled him toward the door.
She walked inside and avoided everyone's gaze as she walked to her seat. "Sorry," she said, as she sat down, her eyes landing on Walt's.
"It's okay, Hermione. Take your time," Walt said, looking not at all bothered that she'd fled from the room.
She took a deep breath, resisting the urge to look at Draco. She wasn't sure how she would react if she saw that he wasn't looking at her again, and he shouldn't have to be. He'd done enough for her. She could do this; she didn't need him to push her through it.
"The one with Greyback. I'm sure it's obvious now why I said I'd wished I'd made his death a little slower," she said, and she was a bit surprised to hear how steady her voice sounded.
"Why do you think that's the hardest one for you to talk about?" Walt asked, his voice gentle yet probing.
"That's the one I see the most. That and the next one, with…" She paused to take another breath, sitting her feet flat on the floor to stop the sound of her foot jittering against the tile. "The one with Bellatrix. Those are the two that I relive pretty regularly."
"In your nightmares, you mean?"
"Yes. Those are the ones that typically cause the," she lifted her hands slightly, as if searching for the right word, "explosions. They're the ones I carry around with me the most."
"What do you mean?" Walt asked.
She swallowed again before slowly pulling up her left shirt sleeve. She extended her arm in front of her, offering up the most guarded and disturbing of all her battle scars. Hermione heard Nicola give a small gasp beside her. The word, MUDBLOOD, mangled and gnarled across her flesh, feeling like every bit as much a mark on her very soul as it was against her flesh.
"It can't be removed. And… Greyback may not have left any permanent reminders on my body, but he certainly left his mark." She pulled her shirt sleeve back down and wrapped her arms around herself. "I can barely stand to be touched, and the slightest sign of aggression, a stern voice or hostility or even just loud noises, and I'm back there, reliving it, locked in that memory." She paused to wipe tears from her face with the back of her hand.
"That's why I wanted you to see the last one. That was my first instance of accidental magic, and it all stemmed from a pushy drunk at a bar. It wasn't until a week or so later, when I'd blown up the desk in my room while I was asleep, that I put two and two together.
"Since then, I've had dozens. I've blown up my bedroom more than once and a few broom closets. And in addition to almost killing Dennis" - Hermione lifted a hand toward him, and the simple smile on his face seemed to chip away a bit of the anxious feeling in the room. She said, "I almost killed Ginny once too in a similar fashion."
"But, since the last time, I haven't had another, and working on Occlumency and meditation has really helped to pull me back from the brink of them on more than one occasion."
"That's great," Walt said, nodding encouragingly at her. "I'm glad to hear that. You've come so far, Hermione. I'm so proud of all the strides you've made for your recovery. You've come such a long way, and the fact that you're even able to share this with us is proof to that."
She didn't exactly feel that way, but it felt good to hear it, nonetheless.
After group, Hermione went back to her room to shower. She thought she'd feel lighter somehow, different, after unloading her most painful memories for them all to see, but she didn't, not like she'd felt after sharing them with Draco.
She felt numb though, like all of it had been a dream, someone's else's even. She felt removed from it all, and she thought for a moment how much she wished she could feel separated from the memories themselves. Over the last six weeks she couldn't deny the improvements that she'd made. Being able to feel connected with another person and allow that person to touch her at all was certainly an improvement.
And she did feel better most days. Her nightmares came few and far between, and the ones that she'd had hadn't been bad enough to bring out another explosion at all or even wake Draco as far as she knew. Outside of the one that Draco had a couple weeks prior, neither of them had been suffering from nightmares at all.
And she'd been able to talk herself down from a panic attack earlier without anyone else's help. It'd taken her a minute and she'd had to leave the room to do it, but she'd done it, nonetheless.
She stood in the shower, allowing the water to fall over her, the heat pinpricks against her skin, and tried not to focus on how weak she'd felt in the group therapy room, unable to speak under the pressure of everyone's eyes.
Everyone except Draco's.
That had been the issue, and she didn't like it. She didn't like feeling like she needed him, and yet she already knew she did. She needed him with her every night, holding onto her, or the nightmares returned. She needed him beside her, comforting her, or she couldn't even speak.
This wasn't something she'd ever experienced before. She'd certainly needed Harry and Ron throughout school, but she'd tried to never show that fully. Of course, she always believed that she'd needed them much more than they'd ever needed her, but this was different somehow. And after all that she'd gone through in the war, it just felt so much easier to try and hide it all, to turn it all inward and not allow anyone else to see or help.
She thought back to one of their first group sessions, when Walt was going over trust and how learning to rely on other people was a part of healing. At the time, she hadn't really understood exactly what he meant, but now she did. Now, though she'd already steeled herself to go back into the counseling room and finish talking about her past, it wasn't until Draco held her that she'd actually felt strong enough to do it.
She remembered Nicola mumbling something about "codependency" when Walt had been discussing trust, and he'd responded, "I can imagine that relying on someone else to help carry the weight can feel like codependency when you're used to being so adamant about self-sufficiency, but it's okay to need people in order to actually heal and not just bury the wounds.
"Trust, allowing others to see you, to truly see you, that is a form of healing in and of itself, but actually giving yourself permission to feel those emotions and see those parts of yourself as well, that's just as important. I know many of you have mentioned feeling weak in your inability to 'fix yourself,' but it isn't weak to trust in another person. It's a sign of true strength to be able to deal with your most uncomfortable memories and be vulnerable enough to share them with someone else.
"I know it isn't easy, but you can trust us," Walt had said, looking around the room, pausing to meet everyone's eyes. Her first instinct at the time had been to look away. She remembered thinking then that there was no way that she'd ever be able to openly talk about what happened with Greyback and Bellatrix let alone to do so in front of a room full of people, at least a few of which she'd been certain at the time hated her.
Hermione smiled softly as she turned the water off, grabbing the towel off the hook beside her shower. She started to wrap it around herself as she stepped out of the tub, but the thick steam, swirling around her and rising from the open shower, felt like a blanket lying heavy and warm around her shoulders.
Her feet left a trail of prints in the condensation on the floor as she stepped toward her mirror. She opened the door behind her, allowing the fog to escape and her reflection to clear.
Remembering how she'd looked before coming to the Willows, she took pride in the improvements in her reflection now.
Maybe Walt was right, she thought. She did feel different; life once again felt livable.
No. It was more than that. She'd meant what she said to Draco earlier, when she was astonished that this was her life. Less than two months ago, she couldn't sleep through the night. She couldn't go to a party without the walls beginning to close in around her.
And her reflection then, when she'd really taken the time to look at herself as everyone else was surely seeing her right before her first meeting with Susan and Alys, she'd looked like a skeleton. A shell, hollow.
Her hair was back to its normal monstrosity, and remembering how it had appeared lifeless and limp, she didn't even mind at all having her chaotic curls back.
Color had returned to her face, thanks in part to the camping trip and daily hikes since she'd gotten here, and there was something in her eyes once again.
Hope. Happiness.
She dropped the towel in front of her just as she'd done those months ago before meeting with Alys and allowed herself to see her scars, but this time, she allowed herself to see past them. Just as Draco had done earlier in the day when she'd allowed him to see her for the first time, she saw the parts of her that were the most painful – her scars from Dolohov's curse, the Battle of Hogwarts, those littering faintly across her hands and arms from the Flagrante Curse in the Lestrange vault and bubotuber pus from Fourth Year, the few she'd caused herself along her upper thighs – but they were just a part of her, no longer her defining feature.
Looking down at her arm, she ran her fingers along the slur etched into her skin. She didn't flinch as she would have a year ago, and she didn't pretend it wasn't there at all, as she would have done only a few months ago.
Now, she could see it. She could remember it, and though it still hurt, it no longer felt like a shroud hanging over her, laid bare, heavy and thick, visible for the world to see. Instead, it was still just a piece of her, and not even one of the most important ones.
Taking a breath, she picked her towel up off the floor and began drying her hair as she walked to her room to get dressed.
Her mind was still going through all that Walt had said about trust and about the role Draco had played in her recovery. Somehow, they'd fallen into a routine together, late nights with a flask, listening to music and talking about their lives. She certainly hadn't been consciously trying to help him at the time, and she was sure he hadn't been doing that for her either, but somehow, together they'd managed to pull one another from beneath the rubble of the war.
Damn Walt, she thought with a chuckle.
"Trust, allowing others to see you, to truly see you, that is a form of healing in and of itself, but actually giving yourself permission to feel those emotions and see those parts of yourself as well, that's just as important."
She'd allowed Draco through her walls, allowed him to see beyond the persona she wore when the world was watching. She'd given him a part of her that she'd never given to anyone else, and not just the physical aspect of that.
He knew more about her than even her best friends did. He, above anyone else, had the ability to hurt her, and it was terrifying. It wasn't at all that she didn't think she could trust Draco. She knew without a doubt that she could, but something as simple as him not looking at her during group had crumbled her. That's the kind of power he held, and though he'd told her he wanted everything, what did that mean once they left here?
What did that mean when the rest of the world was watching? When they were outside of the safe little bubble they lived in at the Willows?
She trusted him, but, just as he'd said before, she too was waiting on the other shoe to drop. She knew exactly what she wanted, but exactly how did they play out in the real world?
She imagined trying to walk through Diagon Alley while reporters and photographers stood on every corner.
Death Eater and Golden Girl? or The Golden Girl, Fallen from Grace? or Malfoy Heir Slumming with Muggle-born emblazoned across the cover of newspapers and magazines.
She imagined Pansy no longer wanting to be around him because she hated Hermione so much or Ginny no longer speaking to her once she found out.
Shut up!
They'd agreed they weren't going to do this. They'd agreed they were going to talk about things like adults and not get trapped in their own minds.
It had been easy to simply say she wouldn't overanalyze but following through was another thing entirely.
She trusted him. She'd trusted him with her story. She'd trusted him with her memories.
Now, she'd trust him with her heart.
It wasn't until they were in bed, wrapped in the safety of the darkness and one another's arms, that he brought up group that night.
"I… I feel like I should apologize again," Draco said, her hand on his chest and his hand drawing soft lines across her back through the cotton of her t-shirt.
"Why?" She didn't sit up even though she wanted to. The moonlight shining through the windows allowed enough light for her to see his face, but she knew that both of them had a hard time speaking when they were looking directly at one another.
He took a breath and the ministrations along her back ceased as he seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say.
"Last night, we talked about me, and how I felt about what you showed me, what you showed everyone tonight. I know you said there wasn't much to say about any of it, but you were more concerned with me and how I felt. That's… that's not okay. And I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to apologize for. I showed you because I knew it wouldn't be easy for you, and I wanted to be able to help you." When he started to interrupt, she said, "I did show you them for myself as well. I wanted to be able to do that, so it wasn't entirely altruistic. I knew you'd immediately start blaming yourself for everything, and I wanted to help you through it if I could."
He sighed deeply, twirling one of her curls around one finger. "You're always helping me through, and that isn't fair for you. I… I couldn't even look at you in there or I would have lost it."
"What do you mean?"
"I was barely holding it together as it was. I knew if I looked at you, I wouldn't have been able to sit there that far away from you, and…" He stopped, and she felt his chest shudder beneath her. He breathed in deeply before speaking again. "And that isn't fair to you. You deserved to get to talk about… about everything that happened without having to take care of me in the process."
For a moment, she was too stunned to speak. This admission completely took her by surprise. She wasn't entirely sure what she'd been thinking had made him not look at her during group, but it certainly wasn't that. It was slightly comical, the fact that his worries had been the same as hers, and she almost laughed.
But even more overpowering than the humor of the situation was the swelling in her chest; warmth spread throughout her limbs, emanating from the pounding in her chest, and she knew if they'd been looking at one another now, there would have been no hiding the smile she was wearing or the tears in her eyes.
Obviously, he hadn't been upset with her or intentionally not wanting to comfort her at all; he'd immediately come out in the hall when she'd needed a minute, and even then, he had apologized because he feared he was overstepping.
He nudged her with the hand he'd been holding hers with across his chest, and she leaned up onto her elbow and turned her face toward him. His eyes shone softly, metal almost glinting with the moonlight, and he swallowed once before speaking.
"I don't want to add more weight on you. I don't want to be another burden that you have to carry. I… I want to be able to help you as much as you've helped me." The sincerity in his face, the openness as he confessed these fears, was overwhelming.
She wanted to tell him how unfounded they were, but hadn't she just worried about the same thing? So, she leaned down, saying more as she pressed her lips to his than she could with words.
Laying her forehead against his like he always did to her, she said, "I showed you last night all the things that you've done for me." She lay down beside him and pulled his arm, wanting him to turn to face her. "I'm worried that I rely on you too much. I… Tonight, when you weren't looking at me, as stupid as it sounds, I … I could barely even speak. How ridiculous is that?"
She snuggled in closer to him, their noses almost touching, and said, "I can't sleep without you. I can't get through a day here without you. If either of us is leaning too heavily, it isn't you."
"Tell me if it's too much," he said, repeating what they'd agreed upon after their first kiss. They hadn't once spoken again about his nightmare and having woken her up in a panic, but she knew that was just another instance where he felt like she was taking care of him, but to her, it had been as easy as breathing. She knew without a doubt that he would do the same for her, and chances are, if this continued, then he would be at some point or another. Isn't that what you do as a couple? Rely on one another?
She said, "I will," knowing full well that it would never be too much. Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she added "You tell me if it's too much."
"It won't be." He pulled her to him, his face covered in a sea of curls as he buried it in her hair and drew her leg over his hip.
They lay together, sweaty and tangled in his sheets, as his fingers brushed along the sensitive spot between her breasts. Their hearts raced, and the sounds of each of them trying to catch their breath filled the room.
The night before, they'd fallen asleep soon after their conversation, and the thought of sex hadn't ever crossed her mind when they'd be talking so seriously, but that morning, she'd awoken to the gentle feel of his fingers rubbing across her thigh. It had been so reminiscent to the morning after their first night falling asleep together on the couch in the art room, that a sleepy smile rose to her lips.
But this time, she thought, he definitely knows exactly who he's touching.
She'd breathed in deeply, smelling his shampoo on her pillow, and she broke out in goosebumps as he leaned over her, his lips like butterfly wings teasing the dip between her shoulder and her throat.
Perhaps it had been the lack of time she had to overthink, but she'd been much more intrepid than their first time. She'd arched into him, the familiar need in her growing already as she felt him hard and pressed against her bum.
They'd shed their clothes much quicker than the day before, eager more than hesitant, and this time, when he pushed into her, the sharp sting was only present through the first few seconds. She'd felt sore, like a deep bruise, but that too had dissipated, replaced with the intoxicating feel of him, his breath across her neck and his bare chest flush against her back.
She buried a moan in the pillow beside her, realizing they hadn't cast a silencing charm at all and gripped his thigh, nails digging into him when she came apart, the coil inside her snapping and showering sparks through her as his fingers danced circles between her thighs. Afterward, as if that were the exact cue he'd been waiting for, his thrusts became needy, deeper and electric, and he clutched her hip, pulling her back toward him as he followed her over the edge.
After they lay entangled for a few minutes, riding out the aftershocks, she reached for her wand, muttering a contraceptive spell before turning to face him with a smile, "Good morning."
"Good morning," he replied, his voice husky from sleep. His eyes were closed, but the smile on his own face said it was a good morning, indeed. "I could die a happy man right now."
She snuggled into him and threw a leg across his hips. Burying her face in his neck, she brushed her lips beneath his earlobe, and said, "Well, don't die yet. I kind of like having you around."
"Kind of?" he asked, his smile turning into a smirk as he turned his head to face her.
"A smidge," she said, holding up one hand between them, her thumb and one finger a hair's width apart.
He laughed, the sound washing over her and filling her with a lightness that even sex couldn't touch as he turned on his side. "Just a smidge?" Pulling her to him, he planted a kiss just above her breasts and said, "I'll just have to try harder, then."
When time for visits rolled around, she stood outside, waiting by the Apparation point, not entirely sure what to expect. After last week's visit had ended in tears, she didn't know who, if anyone, would be coming today.
She thought for sure that Ron wouldn't be, and she didn't know about Harry. She pulled her jumper tighter around her, trying to block the wind, and pushed her hands into her pockets. Pansy and Blaise had already shown up, and they were now sitting with Draco in their normal spot. She hadn't turned around to look, but she was sure he was watching her, likely just as angry with Ron but not wanting to overstep.
Harry had surprised her after learning about Ron's betrayal last week. She'd been expecting a repeat of Third Year, when they'd both turned their back on her. Or any number of times when Harry had taken Ron's side. But she supposed since she had been the one to stay behind when Ron abandoned them, she and Harry had grown much closer over the years, closer even than he and Ron were.
He'd stood up for her, telling Ron he was an idiot and even apologizing for Ron's behavior though it wasn't his place to do so. She thought – hoped – that he hadn't changed his mind, but the fact that he hadn't showed yet brought a sinking feeling into the pit of her stomach. Those same thoughts of inadequacy began to replay themselves in her mind, but she shut them down, reminding herself that Harry loved her. Even if he didn't come today, she was sure he had a very good –
The sharp crack made her jump, pulling her from her thoughts and turning her attention back to the somewhat trodden spot in the grass in front of her.
Harry appeared before her, straightening his glasses from the shock of Apparation, and turned to face her. She expected him to return her smile, but instead, his face was one of clear apprehension, his brows knitted together, and his lips thinned.
"I tried to tell him not to come, 'Mi, but –"
Another crack pointed her attention to Harry's left where Ron suddenly appeared, slightly red in the face and an obvious bruise forming behind one eye.
"Did you…" she started, turning toward Harry, but he shook his head.
"Ginny. She… she had some things to say about… everything."
"I deserved it. I know that," Ron said, taking a step toward her, his hands raised in submission.
Hermione could feel her own face getting hotter. She certainly had not expected to be having this conversation already. She'd ignored his letters, all ten of them, over the last week, and she assumed that he'd take the hint that she had no intention of speaking to him, at least not yet.
Oddly, the idea that Ginny had hit him for this made her feel much more supported than she had a moment ago when she'd been worried no one was going to show. She looked at Harry again, but he was no help. He shrugged and looked between them both, as if he had no idea what to do.
Hermione turned away from him, intending to walk back to the patio, and after only a dozen steps, Ron's hand on her shoulder made her stop. As soon as he touched her, Draco stood, both Pansy and Blaise giving him a strange look before standing as well. They were only a stone's throw away, and she heard Blaise ask Draco what he was doing, but he said nothing, just leaned against one rail, his normal feigned look of nonchalance much more strained on his face as he crossed his arms in front of him.
"I know I screwed up," Ron said, as he took a step in front of her, not noticing Draco's odd behavior in front of him. "Big time. But you have to know that I'd never intentionally hurt you, Hermione. Never."
"Whether or not it was intentional is irrelevant. You have hurt me. Over and over again. This just happened to be a line I never thought you'd cross." She wanted to forgive him. He was one of her best friends, and she knew he cared about her. She knew he loved her just as much as she knew Harry did, but she also never thought him capable of hurting her this way. To share a part of her that wasn't his to share was beyond forgivable.
Well, maybe not beyond forgivable, but she wasn't quite ready to let it go yet.
"I made a mistake. You can't throw almost a decade of friendship away over a mistake."
It was unfair. He'd been the one to mess up, and yet here he was, red in the face and berating her as if she'd done something wrong. And, he hadn't even apologized. He just showed up demanding that she forgive him.
"I can't?" she asked, as she narrowed her eyes at him, wanting nothing more than to knock him on his ass. But one glance at Draco across Ron's shoulder made her rethink it. She didn't want to be that kind of woman. Granted, she'd only ever hit one person – Draco – but, it hadn't been fair, and she didn't want to stoop that low again.
"No. I know I've made mistakes over the years, but I'm not that boy anymore. You know me. You know there isn't anything you could do that would ever make me turn my back on you!"
His words brought her eyes back to his, drawing her attention from Draco, and it gave her an idea. "Is that right?"
"Of course, it is," Ron said, the sincerity in his voice almost made her rethink it, but she wasn't the type of person who changed her mind all too often. Once a decision was made, she went with it, holding on for dear life even if she was wrong…
But she didn't think that was the case here.
"Okay." She stepped around Ron, ignoring him calling after her as she walked the last few paces to where Draco was standing, her eyes never leaving his. His brow furrowed for only a split second before he realized what she was doing, and his normal smirk broke across his face just before she climbed the two steps leading up onto the patio and leaned into him, standing on her tiptoes so she could press her lips to his.