The next day moved slower than a chained up troll. Hermione would daze in and out of reality, thinking about the night that passed. Then it would travel to thoughts about the possibility of it happening again.

She knew time only went fast when you were having fun, so she gathered she must be dreading midnight. Or so she forced herself to believe.

There was a tension that rested between her and Malfoy, a tension of two people who hated each other at their very core. Yet, there was also an element of understanding. It would be normal for Hermione to bond with Harry, or maybe even Cho over her brokenness, but there was something blocking her from doing so.

Maybe it was the fact that she didn't want them to see her as poorly, or that they'd be disappointed that she couldn't keep her head up.

Standing in the shower, with the stream hot against her back, she contemplated the reasons why she felt okay to confess her hurt to Malfoy. Was it because he already thought so low of her, there was no way he would be discouraged?

The shampoo was running low. She made a mental note to add it to the shopping list. That and to replace every item she devoured last night.

"Hermione! Hurry up, you're using all the hot water!"

"I'm nearly finished!" She yelled back.

Quickly washing the conditioner out of her hair, she turned the water off while wrapping herself in a towel and left the steamy bathroom to whoever needed it next. Turns out it was Andromeda.

Theo's head was coming up the stairs, his curls bobbing up and down with every step. Hermione noticed just before she reached her bedroom and bolted to avoid him. Crossing the threshold, she slipped on the water dripping from her legs and fell straight on her arse.

With a thud, she groaned at the shooting pain racing up her spine. Reaching above her head, she slammed the bedroom door shut from the floor, praying no one saw that humiliating act.

The stabbing sensation along her back felt nice. She let herself feel the sting of it, savouring every second that distracted her from her thoughts. In a way it was relaxing. Not a pain she could control, rather one that she could easily put to an end if need be.

Then, she felt sick at the thought of loving being in pain.

There on the floor of her bedroom in a safehouse no more than ten people knew of, Hermione recognised that she was going insane.

She asked herself if she sunk through the floorboards, and into nothingness, would anyone really notice?

The air was cold against her damp skin, making her shiver. She hated thinking. She wanted to be in a time when she didn't think so sadly.

Wearing nothing but a towel, she curled up into a ball and forced herself to sleep. In today's dream she was taking her first flying lesson. It was dreadful, and this time round when feet left the ground, her broom turned into an albino dragon.

When Hermione woke, her limbs were stiff. Somehow, taking a nap made her feel worse. The full length mirror showed that she had creases pressed into the right side of her body from the floorboards. They were itchy when she touched them.

It began raining soon before dinner. Thunder rolled against the windows, making them quiver. No one stayed up to play games after the dishes were done.

After another short nap, Hermione instinctively woke up at 12:13am. The candle on her desk was still burning, letting her shadow dance across the opposing wall. It was still raining, and she wondered if Malfoy still kept up his habits in a storm.

She stood by the window that faced the front gates and saw that infamous blond hair, standing where he did every night. Most likely freezing.

Hermione fought with herself over whether or not she should go down and try for a rerun of the previous night. Would it be impulsive to think that he wanted her company again? Something must have crossed his mind when he walked through the kitchen and saw she wasn't there yet.

Before she could continue the mental argument with herself, Malfoy turned around to face the house. His head tilted upwards, as if he was looking directly into Hermione's window, to which her heart stopped pumping blood.

He lifted his arm, and for a second Hermione thought that he was going to wave at her. Instead, he curled his pointer finger over and over again, telling her to come to him.

The way he did it with no expression was demanding. Dominant.

Hermione had no control over the body that dragged her out of her room, froze hesitantly on the staircase, and opened the door that led onto the front porch. She was very concious that she was wearing an oversized shirt and a pair of pyjama shorts. The tight kind.

Malfoy was drenched. His jeans and undershirt were sticking to his skin, and his fringe had droplets falling off the ends. He sort of glowed in the porch light.

"My father," He started, "never showed any sign of affection, to me, nor my mother. The closest I ever got was when he would squeeze my shoulder then pat it twice."

There was a second where he licked the rain off his lips and inhaled a sharp breath.

"I remember he did this thing with my mother, where he would press his forehead against hers. That was as intimate as they ever got. They were cold, to me and to each other. I'm cold because of that, not because of The Dark Lord."

"Why are you telling me this?" Hermione asked.

He took a step forward so that she could see how his lashes were damply clamped together. The corners of his jawbone stuck out below his ears.

"You said last night that I am cold because my parents threw me into the deep end of this war. That's not true. I am cold because they are cold. Most purebloods are."

"You don't have to defend your parents to me, Malfoy. I spoke out of anger. I know that your parents love you."

Hermione's hand had a knee-jerk reflex of going to reach for his. Then she realised who it was she was talking to and took it back as fast as it went out. She almost blushed at how it looked like she was having a spasm.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, "I am not defending them. My parents do not love me the way that a parent should love a child. I wouldn't have a mark on my arm if they did."

If Hermione's heart was made of glass, she imagined that a crack just formed at the centre.

"You know when you get into a fight with someone and it's not until later on that you think of something that would have been good to say in the moment?"

She nodded.

"That's why I'm telling you this."

This was a side of the Slytherin that Hermione had never known existed before. Humility. He had admitted that he wasn't as smart as he could have been when they argued, and that essentially she had won.

She turned her cheek slightly to the left, and looked at Malfoy through wary eyes.

"In fourth year, I trapped Rita Skeeter in a glass jar."

The confession came off her tongue before she even thought about pushing back down. She felt her soul leave her body, look down at herself in bewilderment, and then float back down. Malfoy's brow twitched, waiting for her to continue.

To be fair, without context, she did look like a looney.

"You are aware that she is an unregistered Animagus, I saw you speaking to her in your hand in fourth year, telling her lies. After everything she wrote about me in the papers, calling me a 'scarlet woman', I found out about her secret and trapped her in a jar as blackmail for future necessities."

He looked at her as if she was a looney.

"You confessed something to me," she went on to explain, "and I have this profound compulsion to make sure people don't feel vulnerable alone, so I confessed something too."

"That you trapped a compulsive liar into a jar?" He said this with uncertainty.

"Yes. To which she deserved."

He nodded once, slowly. "I am sure she did."

Hermione audibly swallowed. She hadn't a single clue why she was standing on the front porch with a soaking wet Draco Malfoy, struggling to find a reason to leave.

"Can I confess something else?" She asked. He blinked twice. "I don't know how to thank you for sitting with me last night."

"Why would you want to thank me?"

"I loathe you with every fibre of my being, but I can't not thank you for sitting with me while I," she flung her hand around in a circle, "wallowed about my old age."

He raised an eyebrow, "Confession?" He asked, waiting for her nod of approval. "I despise you with every ounce of magic that runs through my veins, but I think I needed that more than you."

Malfoy took one quick stride, similar to a leap, cupped her face into his hands and leant down. Hermione jolted at the proximity of his lips to hers and pushed him back by his shoulders.

"What are you doing!?" She barked, quiet enough so no one could hear, but loud enough to match her widened eyes.

"Sabotaging myself," he said, running a hand over his face.

She pushed him one more time, "Well don't use me to do it!"

Her arms began to shake with rage. She paced back and forth on the porch while Malfoy rested his head on the wall. Everything in her wanted to slap him until his nose bled.

"Snogging me will not give you the revenge you want against your father. I know that what you just tried to do was potentially worse than murdering every person in this house. I know that I am the scum on the bottom of your shoe, but it won't work."

Hermione was speaking to his back, and couldn't see his reaction. Then, he turned around and she could see it very clearly.

The only person she had ever seen angier than him right now, was her father. It made the back of her knees buckle in on themselves. She wondered if he was going to hit her, and suddenly, letting him kiss her sounded better than the back of his hand meeting her cheek.

Malfoy took steps forward, forcing her back to be pressed against the fencing on the porch. Any further and she could tip backwards into a bush.

He pointed his finger with eyes of fire, "Stop assuming you know everything about me. You don't know my father, Granger, and you certainly don't know me."

"I know that you hate yourself."

He rolled his tongue along the bottom row of his teeth, then gave a breathy laugh and lowered his pointed finger. It was terrifying and exciting all at once.

"Maybe I do," he tilted his head. "Tell me, Granger. Why do you think that I hate myself?"

His eyes squinted and face moved an inch forward when he said you. Hermione couldn't deny that she had been conforming theories for the last few months. Only now that she had the opportunity to say them aloud, she doubted the reasoning behind every single one.

"I think-" she took a breath, "that you want me to give you the answers. But I don't have them, Malfoy. You need to figure out why you hate yourself on your own."

A clap of thunder made her jump. Malfoy never broke eye contact, even when lightning flashed across his face. Hermione was reminded of those scenes in scary movies when the villain is revealed from behind the shadows.

Although right now, she felt more like the bad guy than him.

"You're a smart-arse, you know that right?" His tone was mean, not playful.

"I've been told that a time or two in my life."

His hair was still damp, and his clothes were still sticking to his skin. Part of Hermione wanted to wrap a towel around him and rub his arms up and down until he was warm. The other part of her wanted to lead him back out into the rain and throw him out of the front gates.

Malfoy retreated from their closeness, "Confession?"

She nodded for a second time.

"I don't know why I hate myself. I'm asking you to tell me. Not for answers, just to know."

"Are you saying you value my opinion?"

He rolled his eyes, "Call it what you want, Granger."

A cold wind blew past them and Hermione remembered that she wasn't wearing a bra. In order to make sure he didn't see what was clearly sticking out of her shirt, she folded her arms across her chest and began to speak.

"I think you disagree with everything You-Know-Who stands for but can't admit that you made a bad decision. More so, I think you hate yourself because you had chances to change the outcome of this war, and because of your cowardness, your closest friends died."

Malfoy had an expression that showed he was soaking in everything she was saying, and hating how much of it was true.

"I know you're not finished," he growled at her.

Hermione thought that maybe this was his version of loving the feeling of being in pain. Maybe this was his way of feeling anything other than the emotions he constantly felt. Giving him what he needed, she continued…

"Becoming a Death Eater forced you to make a decision you weren't ready to make but because you idolise your father, you did what you thought would make him proud. You hate yourself because you love your parents more than they love you. You would have done anything for them, but they wouldn't do the same for you."

The sound of heavy rain hitting the roof was the only sound between them now. Hermione could feel her heartbeat in the tips of her fingers.

Malfoy looked up at the porch ceiling, exposing his neck, and then looked back down at her. His silver orbs were almost black now. He looked so much older than eighteen.

"Thank you," he said softly. To which Hermione nearly threw up at the sound of.

"Anytime."

He ran a hand through his damp hair and turned to go back inside but then turned back around to face her. "Don't tell anyone that I tried to-"

"Forget it," she cut him off, "Desperate times call for desperate measures, right?"

"Right."

Hermione's eyes flicked to his burnt arm and then back to his scarred face. In order for him to viciously injure himself and try to kiss her, he must really be in despair.

"What are yours?" He asked, looking her up and down.

"What are my what?"

"Desperate measures."

She knew she could lie and say something mild but they had been brutally honest this far, why would she stop now?

"Wanting to keep talking to you," she admitted.

Malfoy frowned and smiled in the smallest ways, "Am I supposed to take that as a complement or an insult?"

Hermione shrugged, "Both. Neither."

She tugged her wand out of the elastic of her shorts and held her hands up to show she wasn't going to hex him. With the tip of the wand pointed at his shirt, she cast a drying charm. He shivered at the warmth sliming across his body.

He closed his eyes and looked as if he was inhaling the magic, and this made Hermione suspicious. She hasn't seen someone do that since first year.

There was a question sitting on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't want to embarrass Malfoy any further than he had embarrassed himself tonight. The poor bloke could probably only handle so much, even if he deserved more.

"Have you eaten today?" He asked.

"Sort of."

"Are you lying?"

"No."

He looked down at her through his nose, "Did you want me to leave you alone?"

"No. I don't."

Hermione knew she was going to have to make the first move, walking past him with a shove to his shoulder before going inside. Malfoy followed, going straight to the pantry while she went to the fridge.

This time, they ate in between awkward small talk. She asked if he had ever had a cheeseburger, to which he said no. He asked if she had ever had duck, to which she said yes. It might have been clunky but it was better than being alone.

She guessed that he was feeling the same way. He preferred sharing a meal with a mudblood than being secluded in an attic left with nothing but his own thoughts.

Food soon turned into cups of tea, and the witch and wizard sat in each other's quiet company until the kitchen had an orange filter to it. The rain had stopped and the sun was rising.

"Teddy will wake soon," Hermione said, circling a finger around the rim of her cup.

Malfoy pursed his lip, taking the cup from her hand and placed it in the sink. "I'll head back up."

She stayed quiet, unsure what to say next. He did them both a favour by leaving the kitchen without another word.

There was no creaking of the attic door being pulled down. Teddy's waking whimpers were the last thing she heard before she fell into a deep slumber.

She had two different memories that somehow morphed into a singular dream. One when Timmy Sherman told her she was ugly on the school playground in grade three, the other when Victor Krum said her bigger breasts made up for her boyish features.

At some point Timmy turned into Victor, and the playground turned into the Hogwarts Library.

A knock on the door woke her up. The bed was warm and she had been sweating. She felt disgusting when she opened the door.

Theo was on the other side, his pearly white smile dropping at the sight of her bed hair and heavy eyes. Hermione hadn't properly seen him since Malfoy said that he fancied her in first year.

"Hey," he laughed, "Did I wake you?"

"A little bit," she blinked, trying to focus her vision.

"We need to go to the shops. We're running low on food again. Should I give you a minute to freshen up before we go?"

Hermione pressed her lips into a line and nodded with clenched eyes. Theo walked away and she headed for the shower.

Under the water she thought back on how drenched Malfoy had been last night. How soft and clammy his hands were when they cupped her face, seconds before he tried to kiss her. She remembered how pink his lips were, like he had been rubbing them nervously.

She wondered what it would have felt like if she had let him kiss her. Not like how it would have mentally felt, but how it would have physically felt.

Her nipples hardened at the image of his puffed, pink lips meeting hers. His tongue slipping through while her hands met the hem of his shirt.

Hermione stood against the tiles of the shower and didn't stop her own fingers from touching herself. She imagined that Malfoy's abdomen was as hard as what his arms looked like. He would have groaned when she played with the belt of his jeans and pressed in between her thighs.

His entire hand would be able to cover her breast, massaging one under her shirt while he playfully sucked the other over the grey material.

She would have stuck her hand down in between his jeans and pants, cupping him so gently that he'd chuckle and she'd have no choice but to squeeze harder. He'd tug at the roots of her hair and nibble at her neck.

The steam of the hot water and the heat of her pleasures were making Hermione weak at the knees. Droplets of sweat ran down her cheek and she licked them away. The combined work of her fingers and her imagination were epic.

She imagined Malfoy was rubbing circles on her clit instead of her own. She imagined he would call her a good girl when she stayed quiet despite wanting to scream his name. She imagined he knew exactly what she liked and didn't need a guide.

It was the image of him clamping a hand over her mouth, letting her moan into his palm as he drove her over the edge that literally drove her over the edge.

Hermione slid down the wall and sat at the bottom of the shower, pressing her thighs together. Her chest heaved up and down. Her face was burning, and the images of Malfoy grinning still played in her mind.

She had never come like that in her entire life. She didn't even know it could be achieved.

A full three minutes passed before she was able to stand back up again and properly clean herself. The honey and vanilla body wash didn't help her senses from recovering. She expected shame to wash over her along with the soap, but it never did. If anything, her body felt better than it had in years.

That was much better than hurting herself. Much better.

Hermione promised herself to think of someone else next time. She felt that even though he would never know, Malfoy's ego is bursting at the seams right now, all because she touched herself at the thought of him.

Next time she'll think of someone who she doesn't have to face later in the day.

Getting dressed and wrapping her purse around her body, Hermione pulled out some money that she kept hidden within one of her books. It wasn't the most mysterious of hiding places, but no one in the house cared to take it anyway.

She is given five thousand pounds every month from McGonagall from what she could now confirm was from Malfoy's inheritance. It is far too much, but no one apart from her, Dean and Harry knows that.

Theo was swinging on the tyre swing, waiting for her, by the time she got downstairs. When her hand went to push the back door open, Dean called out from behind.

"Hey, Hermione, hold up." He jogged up to her.

"Hey Dean, anything you need from the shops?"

"Nothing more than usual, thanks," he waved the topic off and put his hands on his hips. "Do you by any chance happen to know any charms that help with washing clothes?"

Hermione tried to suppress the smile that was forming across her mouth, "I might know one or two. May I ask what for? Cho and I usually take care of laundry."

"Well, uh, I have a feeling that," he lowered his voice to a whisper for the next part, "Malfoy hasn't had a chance to clean any of his clothes since he got here. I was thinking about leaving him a note with a charm that could help."

"You can't just tell him in person? When you bring him his food?"

Dean tipped his head back and forth, tossing up his answer. "I actually don't really see him. I usually just make a plate full of food and use this trick that an elf taught me once on sending food to a certain room."

"So you don't talk to him, ever?"

"I've been up there, maybe twice. When everyone else is asleep, of course. He usually kicks me out after a minute. The prick is still a prick, believe it or not."

Hermione let out a singular laugh, "Oh, I believe you." She pulled out a notebook from the bottom of her charmed purse, along with a muggle pen and wrote down a charm. "Give this to Malfoy next time you send up food."

Looking down at the note, Dean gave her shoulder a light punch. "Thanks, Hermione. Really appreciate it."

Her reply was barely heard seeing as Dean was already out of sight by the time that she finished the sentence. She shook her head and returned to meeting Theo.

They set their disguises to different ones than they had last week and made their journey down the country road. Theo talked about everything and nothing, and Hermione went along with the topics politely. Though all she could think about was The Winter's Tale.

"... I never really did like Sprout when we were at school. She had that smell of dirt all the time. You know the one that I'm talking about? Followed her around like a do-"

"Theo," Hermione interrupted, "Can I ask you something?"

He bumped her shoulder with his as they walked step by step, "Yeah, of course."

"What did your parents tell you about muggle-borns when you were a child? Honestly? I won't mind if it was harsh."

Their shoes scraped against the gravel along the side of the road. Clearly, this was not what he was thinking she was going to ask.

He blew through his lips and tossed his hands through his curly hair, "Honestly? It's not the best."

"It's okay, you can say it. I have most likely heard it before, anyway."

"Well, it wasn't until the summer in between first and second year that all us purebloods were sat down and taught the word mudblood. Before that our families just laughed at the idiocy of muggles, so nothing serious. But it was that talk in the holidays that we all remember. All our fathers told us that as purebloods it is our right to ensure mudbloods know their place."

"The bottom of your polished boots?" She tried to soften the blow.

"Further down. They said that mudbloods deserve to be beaten for receiving a wand. That they should be skinned and their heads hung above the fireplaces of true wizards."

Hermione felt herself physically wince.

"It was hard for us all to believe that what they were saying was true, seeing as people like yourself, were much better in school than we were. Pansy was the one that said you were quite bright and questioned why you should be punished for your magic. Her mother back-handed her so loudly, I swear I can still hear it ringing to this day."

"Pansy said that? Pansy Parkinson?" She asked, in disbelief.

"You had the pureblood queen herself defending your honour before she was more known for setting your hair on fire. Draco even told his father that he was okay being second in class because he knew he was never going to be the top."

She grimaced, "How did his father take that?"

"Not sure," he rubbed his chin, "Lucius was more known for punishing his wife and son behind closed doors. Though the split lip Draco supported the next day spoke volumes."

Hermione was familiar with said lips. They were the ones that would have earned him more than a punch if anyone ever found out he had tried to snog her last night.

She absorbed Theo's story all the way down to the markets. She understood now why Pansy had hated her so strongly, same as Malfoy. Because just by her being in the wizarding world, they were being beaten.

As they were trailing down each aisle in the supermarket, Theo pushed the trolley while Hermione grabbed everything on the list.

"I'm on dinner tonight," he said, looking over the cereal brands. "What should I make? I've run out of ideas."

Pulling Cheerios from the shelf, Hermione smiled to herself, "Cheeseburgers."

"Cheeseburgers? I don't know how to make those."

"That's okay, I can help you. Why don't you go and get the bathroom items and I'll pick everything you need."

Twenty minutes later they were walking out of town with several bags in their hands. The checkout girl gave Hermione one of those lucky you eyebrow pumps when Theo insisted that she only carry two out of the eight bags. Little did that girl know that around the corner they were going to charm the items to be weightless so they wouldn't break midway down the road.

But she was right though, he could be a gentleman when he wanted to.

Turns out that Theo had also never eaten cheeseburgers before, in fact Harry, Hermione and Dean were the only ones who had. The only person who complained after dinner was Cho, who said that it was too greasy for her liking. Everyone else rolled their eyes when she put her plate into the sink.

Hermione made up a serving of leftovers and placed it in the fridge for Dean to send to the attic. In return, he gave her a subtle kiss on the cheek when she said goodnight to the people playing cards in the living room. The same way a son would their mum when she said she vacuumed his room while he was at school.

When she tried to sleep, she felt anxious that she wasn't going to wake up in time for midnight, and ended up tossing and turning. The night seemed to drag, as did the laughter downstairs. It was 11:53pm by the time she heard the last person's bedroom door close. Then at 12:05am she figured that they would have fallen asleep.

Malfoy wasn't by the front gates when she looked out her window.

When she walked downstairs, she didn't hear it, but she felt the tiniest bump of the second floor moving. It was natural instinct that told her that it was Malfoy climbing down from the attic and so she panicked and ran to the kitchen.

Sitting at the table, she had no idea how she was supposed to sit naturally. She crossed and uncrossed her legs a few times, and fiddled with the placement of her hands.

Malfoy walked in the second after she landed on folding her arms on the table.

He was wearing a simple white t-shirt that was snug around his biceps. She had never seen him in white before, the sight was nearly blinding compared to his usual dark attire.

"Cheeseburgers were not as good as you had played them out to be," he said cooly.

Hermione just stared at him, unsure if words were physically capable of coming out of her mouth. Her cheeks flushed with the memory of what she had been picturing in the shower that morning.

"They-um-they taste better when eaten at a restaurant."

He nodded, leaning against the door frame and looking around the kitchen. His hand dug into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper that she had written for Dean to put with his dinner. The yellow note looked small within his two fingers.

"I didn't know you spoke Italian," he said with his face down. "Nor did I know that you knew I spoke Italian."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, "There were carvings on the ceiling in your drawing room in Italian. I assumed that your family would have educated you in order to know their meaning."

By the expression on his face, she knew that he knew what she was talking about. One would only be able to read the language inscriptions if they were lying down. In Hermione's case, she was more so writhing on the floorboards than laying down leisurely.

Malfoy took a deep breath in through his nose and placed the note down in front of her, "Should I ask why Dean is giving me notes that are clearly written by you?"

"He wanted a charm that would be able to help you with cleaning your clothes. I wrote that down instead."

She had to crane her neck to look up at him. He towered over her when they were standing, and now that Hermione was sitting, it only made him more intimidating. He placed his hands on the table and leant down so that his chin met the level of her forehead.

"How did you know?" He snarled.

"In school you used to hex people just for standing in your way in the hallways. You've had plenty of chances to throw something at me within our disagreements, but the most you've done is a bruising finger poke. You also used to levitate your orange juice to come to your mouth at breakfast, and now you use your hands for everything."

His fingers drummed against the wood of the table and hummed. Without a reply, Malfoy had confirmed that her theory had been right. Hermione sat at the head of the table, and he took a seat two down from her.

The note that was laid in front of her hands had clearly been crumpled up and then flattened out again. He must have been pissed off when he translated the words 'a wizard without his magic is still a wizard'.

"How long have you lost your magic?" Hermione asked, trying to gain his eye contact.

He refused to look at her, "Since the battle at Hogwarts."

"Do you know why?"

"I don't know, Granger. Probably because Merlin decided I wasn't worthy of it anymore. Don't even think about doing that fucking Gryffindor shit and tell me that you're going to help me find it again."

She scratched the back of her neck and sort of snorted, "I wasn't going to offer."

Malfoy finally looked at her now. His eyebrows were raised and his lips were parted. "Know a lost cause when you see one?"

"More like, I am about one panic attack away from losing my own magic. I at least can go back to the muggle world and pretend like everything is normal. You can't."

They both smirked at each other. Hermione still had this deep desire to run her fingers along the scarring on his face. She remembered going to the theatre with her mother to see Phantom of the Opera. With the lined wound across his head and shoulders, Malfoy looked like he was wearing the phantom's mask.

"I can, however, help you write a resume for any houses that are looking for Squib slaves."

He scrunched his face, "Desperate measures, right?"

"Right."