Draco was sitting angrily in the library, waiting for Hermione. After running out on him the previous night without an excuse, leaving him with a mountain of work, she was standing him up today too.
He wondered if it was revenge. Maybe she was still mad at him for what happened in his room. He felt guilty for it. People always talked about his father and he was always being compared to him, but his worst nightmare was being anything like him. Sure, he always used his father as an excuse for everything, but just because that was easy. In reality he hated his father.
He hated that he flinched every time Lucius came into the room. He hated the anxiety he felt when he heard his father's voice. He hated himself for looking so much like his father. Every time he looked into a mirror, he saw Lucius. At times after a few drinks, he'd break mirrors over it.
He hated that his father made him hate himself.
Violence had always been Lucius's strong suit. Not with business partners that screwed him over, not with friends that stabbed his back. It wasn't 'classy' to be violent with people like that, but as long as it was kept in the family, it was okay.
Lucius had always had a twisted mind. Draco thought back to the one time when he was 7 and his father taught him all about dark objects. How illegal they were, how bad they were, how Draco should never be caught with them. The speech scared Draco half to death, but it didn't prepare him for what came next: his father brought him into a room filled with dark objects. He made Draco touch them, explore them. It scared Draco, of course. After some resistance he complied, but it didn't stop his father from punishing him later on for his cowardice.
From an early age Draco was taught to be sly, and hurt people in subtle ways. At first his innocent child mind resented the idea, but there was no other option but to comply. With time the guilt faded away, but never when it came to the elves.
His father forced him to physically harm the elves and treat them like they weren't living beings. Draco felt horrible and sick every time he would kick Dobby, but feared being the one kicked more.
When Draco was 11 he snuck into his father's study and found a bottle of brown liquid. It smelled and tasted disgusting, but Draco drank it all anyway. He felt so much better. The guilt faded away, the pain was gone, he felt happy. Or what he imagined happy to mean, anyway.
He woke up feeling like absolute crap, but he thought it was worth the feeling of euphoria that came along with it. When he tried to sit up, he realized it wasn't just the hangover that made him feel so dreadful, but he was black and blue as well. His father didn't take him being drunk too well, and beat him senseless in his far-from-sober state. Draco didn't even notice. He was numb to the pain. That brown bottle of liquid was his key to ease the pain.
Draco shook his head, trying to get the image of his father out of his head. The bottled up anger and childhood trauma settled itself into anger towards Hermione for not showing up. Draco decided to go give her a piece of his mind. He made his way to the Slytherin common rooms and climbed into the tunnels. He headed for the Gryffindor commons rooms. Before he entered he held his ear to the wall, making sure no one would see him.
When the coast was clear he headed for Hermione's room. With his anger he slammed open the door, but the sight he saw washed away his anger completely: Her room was a complete mess. He saw ripped open muggle books on her ground, broken bookshelves, and even what he thought was a clump of Hermione's frizzy hair.
His eyes traveled to her bed, where he saw her small, frail body lying there. Her eyes were staring out in front of her, at nothing in particular. It was like his presence didn't even resinate in her. Her face was stained with tears, one still falling out of her eye.
Carefully, Draco approached her. He stood right in front of her, but her eyes still didn't focus on him. Softly, he whispers, "Gra- Hermione?" She didn't respond. He crouched down so that they were on eye level. Gently, he brought his thumb to the side of her face and wiped the single tear. This seemed to catch Hermione's attention. She didn't say anything, but closed her eyes so hard she scrunched her whole face. She took a deep shaky breath and pulled the covers up higher, to her neck. She still didn't acknowledge Draco.
The Slytherin boy did a complete 180° in his mannerism. The sight of Hermione reminded him of his mother, who went through a long period of crippling depression. She wouldn't get out of bed for days, she didn't shower, she didn't even talk to Draco for over 3 weeks. Draco loved his mother deeply and seeing her in that state broke him. Seeing Hermione in such an eerily similar state, broke his cold walls as he softened, wanting nothing more than to make her feel better.
Draco knew better than to ask what happened. He knew that maybe nothing even happened. That was certainly the case with his mother. One day she was fine, the next he found her uncontrollably sobbing. Instead he asked her something else. "When was the last time you ate, Hermione?" Hermione was still unresponsive. "I'm going to go get you some food."
While Draco was out getting her food his mind was racing. He couldn't believe nobody noticed any signs. Hermione had been stressed out of her mind, she hadn't been eating, she had become meaner. It dawned upon him that she had a panic attack yesterday in the library. That's why she left. He cursed himself; his mother had them all the time.
Then he realized he should've been angry at Ron and Harry, for not noticing Hermione's shift in mood. They spent every waking moment together. How could they not notice? And then there was Blaise, who usually noticed the smallest details. But Draco brushed it off. He shouldn't Blame Blaise. Hermione wasn't his best friend. He wasn't responsible for her, the two Gryffidnor dolts were.
Draco came back into Hermione's room, with soup and a loaf of bread. Hermione was still lying there the way he left her. He put the food down on the nightstand and gently took Hermione and put her in an upright position. This made her slowly snap out of her state.
"I got you soup. Eat!" Draco ordered, but no venom was present in his voice. Just concern.
"Don't waste it on me." Hermione blurted out, almost as if she forgot Draco was there.
"Granger, don't talk like that. Eat it before I force it down your throat." Draco threatened. Hermione complied, taking the bowl off her counter and sipped on it, blowing once in a while. Draco watched her eat with concern plastered all over his face. When she was done he handed her the loaf of bread.
"I'm full." Hermione lied. Draco didn't fall for it.
"Really? When was the last time you ate anything? Don't lie to me, Hermione." Draco asked sternly, looking into her eyes. Hermione thought about it, honestly not remembering. When she did shame overtook her. She knew Draco would see right through her lies. "Tell me!"
"Saturday." Hermione said as she looked down in shame, swallowing the self hatred.
"Merlin," Draco muttered under his breath. "Breakfast, lunch or dinner?"
"Does it matter?" Hermione tried.
"It does. Answer me!" Draco pleaded.
"Breakfast." Hermione said in such a small voice it was barely audible.
"For fucks sake," Draco muttered. "Eat the loaf! I'm taking you to Pomfrey after."
"No! Draco, you can't do that. I'm fine-" Hermione started freaking out.
"Fine? Hermione, you're not eating, you're having panic attacks, trashing your room-"
"Draco, stop it! It's not like you even care." Hermione screamed. "Just go!"
"Will you shut your damn mouth for a second, Granger. I don't want you to die and that is exactly what's going to happen if you keep this up!"
"Please, you've told me to die countless times!" When Hermione screamed this at him, something shifted in Draco. Had he really been that horrible to her, that she actually believed he wanted her dead? He always thought it was just harmless teasing.
"You think I actually want you dead?" Draco asked in a small voice, dripping with pain. The guilt in his expression set Hermione aback. She was almost convinced he was actually concerned. A similar guilt set in Hermione, rendering her speechless.
Draco took her silence as a 'yes'. He broke their eye contact and headed for the door, but not before looking back at Hermione one last time. "Eat the bread. Please."
Hermione was out of breath from just screaming at Draco. She guessed the best thing to do was to just eat, considering such a small act made her need to catch her breath. As she ate the bread, slowly, she thought about Draco. The look on his face was haunting. She didn't believe he actively wanted her to die, it took a special sort of hatred to want that, but she did think he wouldn't mind.
After she finally had some food in her, she was thinking straight. She cleaned up her room and took a long hot shower. Afterwards, she got dressed and headed to dinner. She couldn't help but look at the Slytherin table. Her heart slightly wavered when she noted Draco's absence, though she refused to admit that was the reason why.
The soup and bread filled her up enough that she was making sense again, but it also made her appetite rave. She ate more than she had the whole past week. It made her feel human again.