A/N: This is my favorite chapter so far :)
Her surroundings were hazy/blurry, and she felt the back of her head ache terribly. Warm hands clutched her arms, and she flinched when she could see the source.
Ron's face was terror-struck as he held and shook her petite frame vigorously.
"Mione, I'm–so-so–sorry. I didn't mean…."
His voice drifted off, and she could hear her ears ringing. She had picked up what seemed like a static sound as her consciousness slipped away again.
Ron's frame towered over her, and his hands tightly clutched her ice-cold hands. She tore her hands out of his grip and tried straightening her back. She saw him withdraw his wand and scream out of reflex, shutting her eyes. She cried into her palms that she slapped onto her face.
"I'm not going to…."
His sight frightened her, and she could feel tears stain her cheeks. He tried to touch her again, but she quickly brought her knees up to her chest and made herself as small as possible, inching as far away from him.
He was still trying to comfort her, but she only wanted him to leave. It seemed like he perceived everything the other way around. When someone drowned in front of his eyes, he ran instead of doing the sensible thing and helping them. When she moved away from him, he took it as an invitation to get closer rather than the obvious rejection it was. How had they gotten to this point? Everything went downhill for them even before the war had ended.
Something broke in her that night when he had left her alone with Harry in the tent. She could not comprehend and phantom the fact that he had absolutely no mercy, and no matter how destroyed she was, he felt nothing when he watched her cry.
Her tears felt like they were empty to him. Everything was always about him, and the second things didn't go his way. He either complained or left, no matter how much he hurt people in the process.
Once he felt a heightened emotion, it could be anything, really. It blinded him. When he was engrossed with rage or jealousy, he said things without thinking about the consequences or how much it could affect people, but then he begged for forgiveness.
It was such a toxic cycle.
Treating her like absolute shit at the most minor inconvenience, then apologizing without even knowing why he was apologizing.
When he would crawl back to her, begging for her to take him back under his wing, she would test him sometimes by indirectly asking him why he was sorry for his actions, and he would always end up speechless. But from the look in his eyes, she could immediately tell that he wasn't actually sorry. He only did because he knew she wouldn't talk to him until he did, which created this toxic cycle of unhealed emotions and underdeveloped communication that piled up so high that now crossing that mountain would become almost impossible. She was equally as guilty in the process. Her love for him was greater than the unhealed emotions between them, and she unfortunately also contributed to this cycle.
So much work had to be done to heal their relationship, and she mentally and physically couldn't and wasn't going to attempt to try.
How could someone that swarmed beneath the ground even attempt to climb a mountain?
She couldn't.
The only thing she could do was find another that swarmed in equally low levels so they could climb back up, hand in hand, building their way up to it brick by brick and making sure that their foundation was solid.
She felt a pool of blood cascade down from the back of her head and gently touched the wound, which stained the tip of her fingers red. It was the same spot as last time, and she almost laughed at the irony of it. An additional injury linked to Ron's temper and ignorance.
"Don't touch me," she cried as her blood splattered on the wall behind her. She hugged her knees as a means of protection from him. Her body trembled aggressively, and she could feel her heart drop to her stomach, "Please, go away."
"No!" he exclaimed, and she pressed her lips, whimpering at his belligerent tone, "I'm taking you to Pomfrey. You're bleeding, for fuck's sake. Don't complicate things," he huffed, pulling her towards him by her elbow.
"Since when do you care?" she whimpered, creating even more distance between them. The hot blood trickling down to the nape of her neck made her feel at home.
It felt like death and the war all over again.
Spilled blood.
He tried to grab her frame up, but she snatched her arm away from his grip once more, "Leave me alone! You've done enough!" she exclaimed.
"Stop being so bloody stubborn all the time!" he said through clenched teeth and kneeled to hold her by both arms.
She let out a horrific sound that echoed through the walls, making him jump back. It was almost as powerful as a banshee scream, "Go away!" she barked through tears.
He watched her with venomous eyes and his mouth agape, standing awkwardly in front of her.
"Suit yourself," he snarled and walked away. She watched his hands fist until his knuckles turned white and disappeared from view.
When there was no sight of him, she released herself completely and cried until she felt nothing. Her arms were hopelessly open, her skin touching the cold stone floor.
Her cry was ugly, similar to the one she had in Malfoy's drawing room, while his aunt tortured her until she felt numb. Maybe that was the day that had kickstarted feeling nothing most of the time. Bellatrix had laid the foundation for her, and she was simply carrying out her teachings.
"Granger?" She knew that voice better than her own.
Malfoy.
He stood frozen in front of her, his right arm dangling and his posture not as straight as she remembered. It was safe to say he looked as horrid as her.
She dug her palms into her eyes in an attempt to stem the flow of tears and hid her face from him.
He tilted his head slightly, squinting his eyes. Is that blood? She clearly didn't want to talk with him, but this was all too familiar to him, and everything clicked at that moment.
How hadn't he figured this out earlier?
Seamus must have been one of the kidnappers and lashed out at her because she had saved him. It made sense to attack two weeks later to avoid suspicion on his behalf, but he still had to be sure if it was the case.
When he kneeled to her level so she wouldn't be intimidated by him towering over her, he watched as she winced and recoiled backward.
"Granger," his voice was soft, barely a whisper. She shook her head, crying harder.
No. No. No.
He didn't want her to be scared of him. He would never hurt her like that.
He instead opted for a way that might get her to calm down and listen.
He retrieved the stone from his pocket and placed it on her knee, taking a few steps back to give her some space. She flinched at the touch, but when she realized it wasn't his hand, she slowly released the hands shielding her sight and focused on the object through her blurred vision.
It was the stone.
He studied her carefully and watched as a smile reached her eyes. She looked up at him, and her face alone made his heart drop. At the beginning of the year, he had already noticed that her skin lacked that usual sunkissed glow of hers that he remembered so clearly, but now her face was completely dull.
He wouldn't wish upon his worst enemy to carry a look like that. Okay, Finnigan and The Dark Lord were exceptions to his wish, of course.
The thought of Finnigan created a bolt of anger through his veins, and he tried to remain steady.
She held the stone in between her trembling fingers and clutched it dearly. He stood his ground until she showed any sign that it was okay to approach her. The state of his ribs was making it almost impossible to stand up, so he carefully sat with his back against the wall across from her.
She didn't want Malfoy to see her like this, but she saw no point in hiding. She was destroyed and not Golden like people thought, and she was sure he was already aware of it. Maybe even for a long time now. If he miraculously hadn't noticed it, then now it had become very clear.
Even Theo and Harry as well, she could see the look of pity stemming in their eyes, no matter how hard they tried to hide it from her.
The eyes are the biggest enemy when it comes to our emotions. They always find a way to betray us.
The vicious look Ron carried in his eyes before leaving haunted her. They were even more terrifying/striking than Voldemort's piercing scarlet ones.
Damn that, Ronald.
She never wanted to see his face again. Even the thought of him made her shudder. No one–excluding war conditions—had ever been this physically abusive with her before, and it coming from Ron was even more painful. Earlier this year, he was the person she loved the most. Now she couldn't even say his name without feeling a strong distaste at the tip of her tongue.
It was funny how her supposed 'enemy' was kinder to her than Ron ever was. She appreciated him respecting her boundaries and felt bad for not asking what had happened to him. He looked equally pained, but she didn't know why.
She met his eyes and flashed him a tucked smile while tears continued to stream down her hot cheeks. She remembered shoving the stone in one of her denim jean pockets and bowed her head down to check if she was miraculously wearing that specific pair.
At least something went right today.
She gently reached into her front pocket, and her fingers struggled through the tight material until she reached the stone. She could still feel his piercing eyes on her, and her gaze made its way back up to his eyes.
After releasing a shuddering breath, she placed her stone on the floor and shoved it in his direction. He easily caught it, and looked at it, letting out a low scoff. He took her gesture as a sign that she was okay with him approaching her now.
After he once again struggled to get up and felt his broken ribs poking at his skin, he slowly sat next to her, lying his back against the wall.
He lazily tilted his head and lingered his eyes on her.
She was completely broken.
His face was inches away from hers. So close that she could count the small specks of silver in his eyes. They stayed looking at each other for a long time, their stubborn nature making them not want to be the first ones to look away.
While they studied each other, they realized they were both victims of Darkness. It covered their eyes that were once full of light.
Hermione could finally place the significance of their stones other than it being their little secret. It showed that no matter how golden or dark one might seem, they were both stripped away from their light.
Draco now knew that their union was the only way back to their light.
The stones made them one, even if they seemed like complete opposites.
"Who did this to you?" His tone was warm, contrasting with the wrath overflowing in his eyes. Her face fell in a frown, and she shook her head.
"Granger," he whispered. When she met his gaze, he spoke again, "You can tell me."
"I–" she sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, which exposed the dried blood on the tip of her fingers. His eyes flashed in anger at the sight. He wanted to force her to tell him, but he knew that he would get nothing out of her, so he disguised his heightened emotions as much as possible.
Sliding a mask on and off was like child's play for him. He had no other choice than to master it with that sadistic being living under his roof for almost two years.
She bawled her hands into a fist, drawing power from the stone to speak, "Ron." His anger reached dangerous levels, and its power frightened him.
Where was all that fucking pathetic scum's rage towards her coming from? And she called that bloody Potter her best friend? If he were, then he would've never let that prick hurt her like this.
He simply nodded, twirling her stone between his index finger and thumb.
He knew exactly what he was going to do. But now wasn't the time. He couldn't even walk properly, for Merlin's sake. He would make him regret it so much that he would want to willingly leave this fucked up world.
He wasn't going to let him breathe or live a single moment without reminding him what kind of a loathsome being he was. Everything would have to be done strategically, of course. Since any wrong move he made would earn him a ticket to Azkaban.
Having his dignity stripped away was fine, but seeing her suffer like this and not be able to do anything was far worse.
He gently reached his index finger to streak away the tears bottled up in her eyes. She watched him, amazed at how willingly he touched someone he had considered filthy for more than half of his life, "Can I clean you up?" he asked, his soft blue eyes looking almost desperate.
After a moment, she nodded and didn't wince this time as he cautiously pulled out his wand. Her eyes watched him attentively while he silently worked with his wand to vanish the blood, clear out her dried tears, and tame her disheveled hair.
He stitched back up the wound in the back of her head, but it still stung pretty wildly, causing her to have a heavy migraine. When he was done, he placed the wand back in his pocket in the same careful way he had taken it out and sighed, staring at the wall across from him.
She brushed the back of her fingers on his shoulder, "Thank you," he looked at her, then down at where her finger touched him. She quickly tore her hand away, and he gave her a quick appreciative nod.
"We've got to stop meeting like this," he joked, making her laugh, which made his lips slant into a smile.
After another silent pause between them, "What happened to you?"
"In general, or today?"
"Today," she answered.
"I was attacked, and Luna, out of all people, healed me," he said casually, making her pupils dilate in shock.
"Attacked? Again?" Her tone was worried, and he shushed her.
"Nothing to worry about, Granger. I'm fine," he dismissed.
"Are you hurt?" She asked, searching for his eyes, who currently looked everywhere beside her, "Look at me," her tone velvety, with a hint of assertiveness.
"Yeah, I think I enjoy being bossed around by you rather than Luna," he spoke without thinking and instantly wished he could take it back when he saw the grin that had appeared on her features.
She refrained from commenting on it out of pity, but if this conversation had taken place in more 'normal' circumstances, she would've hundred percent teased him into oblivion.
"You can tell me," she mirrored his words, and he huffed, "A few broken ribs, my wrist, and some bones in both arms," he explained as if he were talking about the weather.
She didn't know if she should laugh or be seriously worried. Or feel guilty or comforted knowing someone matched her level of detachment. It was all too confusing.
"Who did this to you?" Now it was her turn to use her favorite cliche line in romance novels that would make her scream into her pillow when she was young. She never thought she would have her moment, especially with Malfoy, but the world was a funny place nowadays.
He smirked down at her, "I–" he mirrored her answer when he had asked her the same question.
She cracked a smile at his theatrics that she assumed Theo had a big influence on and unintentionally nudged his upper arm.
He winced in pain, squeezing his eyes shut, and she gasped, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Malfoy, I didn't mean to," she came closer to him, trying to see if she had caused any damage, which made her curls brushed against his chin in the process. This was the closest they had ever been to each other. The fresh eucalyptus smell of her hair overpowered the fresh blood stemming from her wound. She sat back to her original form, and the warmth he felt from their close contact grew cold.
"This wasn't how it was supposed to go," he commented, "I was supposed to wait for twenty seconds then tell you who it was," she rolled her eyes and wondered where he drew his humor from at such traumatic moments.
"I apologize for the change in script," her tone was diplomatic, as if she were defending her case at the Wizengamot, "You may continue."
"Why, thank you, Miss. Granger," he said playfully, then slipped a dramatic mask on and looked at the ground silently for a moment, "Finnigan."
Her jaw dropped, "Seamus? Really? How? He was—so sweet—so nice to me—he did hate Slytherins because of quidditch—but torturing someone like this?" She shook her head in disbelief.
"How Granger of you," he commented at her thought process, making her crack a smile in the middle of her shock.
"I'm going straight to McGonagall after dropping you off at Pomfrey."
"Nah ah, you're not. You're staying there too," his tone was firm, making her raise a brow.
"Malfoy, I can't just let him be. What if he hurts others like this? People have been through enough torture—
"You'll tell her Monday. Plus, it's the weekend," he interrupted her.
"It doesn't matter that it's the weekend. This matter cannot be postponed. Who knows what he'll do until then?" she spoke patiently and noticed as he watched her with a glint in his eye, "What?" she huffed, raising a curious brow.
"Nothing," he smiled, looking away from her. She narrowed her eyes in question. He started laughing to himself and shook his head while she stared at him in confusion, "Really, it's nothing," he said, meeting her gaze again.
She looked away, folding her arms across her chest like a little child that was denied dessert after dinner. He rolled his eyes at her theatrics, "Fine," she hid her grin, "You being passionately angry can be an amusing sight."
"Is that a backhanded compliment? I wouldn't want to misinterpret it."
He shrugged in response.
"So it is a compliment," she decided for him, "Never would've thought I would see the day," she laughed, thinking of all the opposing things he had said to her through the years.
She almost would've thought this wasn't real if it wasn't for the physical pain she was experiencing.
A couple of students passed, their eyes practically glued on them, but neither cared. They both sat side to side, their shoulders almost brushing each other. After all, they'd seen during the war, their 'unity' couldn't even be considered a scandal, she thought. She heard them whisper things to each other, "Should we get going then?"
He nodded, and she stood up first, extending her hand. He looked at it for a moment as if she had asked him to jump off a cliff with her, then held it. She slowly pulled him up to his feet, and he pressed his lips when he felt his ribs brutally poke the inside of his skin. It hurt like hell.
She let go of his hand but remained close to him if he ever needed to hold onto her, "If you feel off balance, you can hold onto my shoulder," she let him know, and he gave her an appreciative nod.
"You too," she laughed as if they wouldn't both stumble down if she ever did.
The walk to the infirmary was quiet until they were met with a pair of horrified eyes. Mme. Pomfrey rushed to their side and quickly made them lay on beds next to each other. If she thought it was odd that they were both injured like this, she didn't comment.
Malfoy stared at the ceiling and held her stone as the old woman first took on repairing Hermione before him. He didn't mind the favoritism. He was even surprised that she would even help heal him. He didn't deserve it.
Her thoughts wandered to her therapy partner, and she felt bad that she didn't go see him, even if he was probably annoyed with her. Maybe he would take it personally, and she hurt him. If she did, then she didn't know what to do to make it up to him. That's if he ever showed up, of course. But also, how could he know that she hadn't shown up. Maybe he thought that she simply didn't feel like talking, and he didn't hear her door open or shut because she arrived earlier than him, then left later than him.
But she doubted he thought about all of this. No one thought about each possibility as much as she, and from how little he cared about her, she doubted he even bothered coming up with theories about her no-show or unlikely behavior.
She was losing her mind. She liked how kind Malfoy was to her and enjoyed talking to him, but she still wanted what she couldn't have.
Maybe her want stemmed from growing up in a toxic household. Her mother only wanted affection from her dad, but he rarely gave it to her and thought that supplying her with a load of money meant he cared and loved her and didn't look at the emotional aspects of their relationship.
Because emotionally, he reciprocated nothing back. If Hermione could rank their emotional connection and communication from one to ten, it would be zero.
She watched her mom constantly give deliberately from a young age until she had nothing left in her. She gave him her time and effort, listened to all of his worries, and always tried to do things that would make him happy and work on their relationship, and he always took it for granted.
When once in a million years she felt like sharing something with him or just wanted to be heard and listened to, he never gave it to her. He always made her feel like a second or third priority by always being occupied doing other things like cooking, watching sports, nodding in dismissal, or listening to her while his eyes lingered on the newspaper.
He was always busy doing something, and he could never even once direct all his energy and concentration to her. The rare times she had watched her dad listen to her mother for a brief moment, he would follow up with derogatory comments and how whatever hurt her was her fault.
The worst was that whenever she would try to work on this issue in their relationship, he would always leave the house before solving anything, cut her mid-sentence, never listened to what she had to say, and somehow manipulated the conversations in making himself the victim.
It was unbelievable how he could just turn any situation and make her the root of the problem when he was the toxic abuser or problematic one from the beginning.
She noticed this affected her soft and slow speaking tone. Since she was always denied attention or given seconds to express anything she wanted, her speaking pace was so quick that Hermione had to remind her mother to calm down and that she wasn't her father when she spoke to her. Hermione pointed out the change she observed several times, but her mother always dismissed it or laughed bitterly, and once again, her eyes would always betray her words. She could see that she simply didn't want to come to terms with the fact that her marriage hadn't turned out the way she had imagined, and she married the wrong choice.
Even though she knew this wasn't love, she felt guilty for being drawn to it since it was the only example set before her eyes.
Maybe she was drawn to him always being closed off or not caring about her because those feelings were all too familiar, and it reminded her of her childhood and home life. The only difference between this similar familiar pattern and her therapy partner was that he could at least remain silent when she spoke and rarely cut her mid-sentence. However, she couldn't comment on the part of focusing his full attention on her since she didn't know what he did behind the wall. He could be dancing from all she knew.
Malfoy watched the witch next to her as she was once again pulled out of this world, lost in her thoughts. He noticed this was a frequent thing for her. He wondered how long it would take for her to snap out of it.
A/N: Comments are like payments for writers :)