Hermione prowled the dark corridors in the dead of the night, eyes scanning over each door as she attempted to spot the desperately desired number two. Goose flesh dotted her skin, the harsh frigid air somehow finding a way to penetrate her jersey and make contact with her skin.

Her heart soared when she spotted the number '2' carved intricately on a mahogany door, identical to the ones that lined the long and narrow corridor.

She stared at it, debating on whether to knock or to just leave and seek help somewhere else. She gulped, her legs weak and painful and her body throbbing in agony. Anxiety ran rampant in her head, her mind formulating a scenario where Ron somehow jerked awake from the heavy spell of sleep he was in and upon realising that Hermione was no longer there, flew into a rage and destroyed everything in sight. He would then go out and walk around the corridors, somehow successfully finding her before dragging her back home by the hair where she was sure that this time his retribution would lead to her death.

With a sense of urgency, she knocked on the door, her knocking a continuous rhythm that announced her panic. The door was wretched open mid knock. The bright luminescent lights washed over her, flashing into her eyes and momentarily blinding her.

"Just who the f— oh… w-who are you?" Hermione's heart sank. In the place that Hermione wanted to find Draco in was a raven haired, green eyed male who wore a pair of round spectacles, sweatpants, and a crop top. His nails were painted black, and his eyebrow was pierced. He had a colourful assortment of illustrations running along his left arm, the beauty of the art on his body catching her attention before she remembered why she had come.

"I-is there someone by the name o-of D-Draco living here? Please I need to see him." Hermione leaned against the door, nausea suddenly washing over her. The male's eyes flashed with fear. "Are you okay? Do you need me to call someone, perhaps the ambulance? Police?"

Hermione shook her head, panic stricken by his words. "No! No police please!" Her eyes welled up with tears. She couldn't call the police, that would just worsen things.

"Okay…" He gulped, looking at her with uncertainty. At that moment, Draco walked into the living room, whistling merrily, his tune dropping when he noticed the distressed look that his friend had shot him. "Harry, is something wrong?" He said, walking towards the door. His eyes then spotted the bruised and beaten form of Hermione, urgency flashing in his mind as he rushed to her, pushing past Harry.

"Hermione! What the fuck happened?" He asked. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but no words left it. Black dots spread over her vision and before she knew it, she was drifting into an abyss of unconsciousness.

When Hermione finally woke up it was clearly dawn, that being made apparent by the chirping of the birds and the orange sunlight that seeped through the curtains. For a moment, she thought that she was in her own bed, next to Ron, the ordeal of last night a distant nightmare. She would sit up, and Ron would greet her with feathery light kisses on her neck, compliments for her sitting on his tongue.

She rolled over, holding back a scream as a sudden jolt of pain spread through her body. She sat up, her chest rising and falling with panic. She lifted her shirt, greeted by the ugly colours that painted her stomach and side, loudly announcing the abuse she endured at the hands of Ron.

Suddenly, every single memory hit her like a ton of bricks. From the misleading promises of change, to the heavy kicks and equally heavy words he had graced her with.

And she remembered Draco's charming grey eyes alit with panic as he saw her beaten form. She saw him rush to her side, like he was running to catch an ethereal glass figure that was about to topple over and fall.

"Oh good, you're awake." Hermione looked up, spotting Draco by the door holding a tray of food, a look of concern etched on his face. His hair was disheveled, his eyes framed by a shade of darkness that indicated that he hadn't slept a wink that night.

"Yes," Hermione said. "And I'm not hungry." She said, although Draco ignored her. He set the tray down on the bedside table, and took a seat on the chair he had set next to her bed. Hermione looked at her hand, feeling embarrassed. She didn't know anyone that would extend their hospitality to someone that had hit them in front of all to bear witness to.

Hermione expected him to mock her and laugh at her. After she had shot down his concern for her being abused, here she was, like a desperate little stray dog, seeking for help from a person she had only known for a few weeks.

"Hermione, I want us to talk about why you're here." He said quietly. He looked just as distressed as she felt.

"I don't want to talk about it." Hermione whispered, looking at her hands. From her peripheral vision she could see his demeanor harden. "I...I understand Granger."

He understood? He understood?!

She found that she was suddenly angry. How did a man, the same gender that had put her in this situation, ever begin to comprehend the pain of being hurt by the one person that was considered a protector, or the fear of one day being beaten to the point of death by a loved one?

"Don't say that you understand, as long as you're a man you'll never understand my feelings." She spat. If her more rational counterpart was present to hear her words she would've been horrified by her sharp retort. Here was Draco, trying to be empathetic in order to console Hermione, and what was she doing? She was being ungrateful and rude.

But at that moment she was so blinded by unfiltered resentment that she couldn't spot her own faults.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by the buzzing of her phone. Hermione picked it up, her breath hitching at the words on the screen.

Twenty missed calls

Five new messages

All from a single person: Ron.

She opened the first text, sent to her at one in the morning.

Whr the fuck r u?

Hesitantly, she began to open and read the other messages.

Hermione, get ur arse here now or else I'll drag u home

Baby, look I'm sorry about what happened. I never meant to hurt you, I was just upset and hurt that you were talking to that guy. Why do you need to tell him about our private affairs baby? Didn't it always work out for us to sit down and talk about it together? I'm worried, it's late, you know the streets aren't safe. Come home.

Baby I'm fucking sorry ok? Just come home I'm worried

I'm going to beat ur arse to a fucking pulp when I find u u slag. U think you can cheat on me with that stupid blonde arse huh bitch? U belong to me stupid, no matter how many times he fucks u ur mine. Get that through ur thick fucking skull and come home.

Hermione set the phone down, sickened by the texts he sent her. She couldn't go home now, not when Ron was at his highest point of ire.

The emotions burst within her, manifesting themselves as crystal tears that rolled down her face. She cried, loud sobs wracking her form. God, how had it come to this?

When Draco had entered the room a while later he found that the food he had set out for her had been eaten and she had proceeded to stare at the wall, expression blank. "Hermione, are you okay?"

Hermione snapped out of her daze. "Yes. T-thank you." Draco nodded, before turning to leave, deciding that she would most probably like some space.

"Draco!" Hermione called out. The platinum blonde turned. "Yeah?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Thank you, for all of this. You could've easily left me out in the cold but you decided to let me spend the night. I cannot stress how grateful I am for that. But I'll feel terrible if I keep mooching off you. I'll be leaving now. Once again, thank you." She began to stand up, only for Draco to inhibit her movement by resting his hand on her shoulder. "You're not going anywhere Hermione. Especially not with that animal still out there. You'll stay for as long as you need to."

"But—"

"Hermione. What I said is final." He said, his eyes insistent.

Her body growing weak with resignation, Hermione lied back onto the bed with a huff. Her eyes welled up with tears, moved by his kindness.

She opened her mouth, but Draco, sensing what she was about to say, stopped her. "I know you're about to thank me again. Don't. It's the least I can do for someone in the situation that you're in." And with that, he left the room, the silence that the absence of his presence left as loud as the music that had played the first time she had laid eyes on him.

Oddly enough, she found that she missed the sound of his voice.