A/N: Trigger warning: In this chapter there's some graphic reference to self-harm/cutting, so please keep yourself safe while reading.
Draco was confused… Initially he hadn't even considered any consequences arising from him talking to Hermione, but now he knew of at least one argument that had occurred specifically because she was speaking to him, he felt torn. On the one hand Hermione was the only person who had spoken to him since he arrived back at school and he didn't really want to lose that one point of human contact, but on the other hand Hermione was suffering because of him. He had made mistakes and ruined lives already, he had proved that that was all he was worth, and he didn't want to perpetuate any problems between Hermione and her friends. Otherwise that would just be adding to the list of mistakes he had already racked up… Hermione's insistence that he wasn't to worry about the situation didn't do too much to ease his turmoil. After their meeting on Saturday afternoon Draco spent the rest of the evening pondering; a familiar heavy weight had settled inside of him again. Ever since the night that Hermione had rescued him from the sodden grounds he had avoided the nearly full bottle of firewhisky that was packed underneath some of his robes in his trunk, but tonight he was sorely tempted if it would mean he could get a decent night's sleep. He remained in the Slytherin common room, knowing that if he went down to his dormitory while it was still empty he would definitely succumb to his temptation; he stayed until nearly midnight when there were only a few younger students left in the common room, before he decided it was time to go to bed.
But he lay in his bed staring at the canopy of his four poster bed for a long time, surrounded by the snores of his fellow dorm mates and acutely aware of the niggling sensation in his chest. After what felt like hours lying awake, he sat up and very quickly slid open the top drawer of his bedside cabinet. The small drawstring bag lay on top of folded clothes and he picked it up carefully, hearing the clink of metal from inside it. Perhaps this was replacing the alcohol; perhaps this would give him the relief that the amber liquid had done; perhaps this might remove the horrible weight inside him. He pulled open the top of the bad and tipped it upside down, the blades from within fell onto his left palm. For a little while he simply stared at them, the small amounts of moonlight that managed to force its way in through the heavy curtains of his bed glinting on the silver of the blade. Closing his hand on them, he rolled up the sleeve of his left arm – he was possibly the only person who repeatedly wore long sleeves to bed – and examined. His last attempts at removing the offensive mark branded into his skin had healed, leaving a multitude of raised white marks enumerating not only his last attempt but his ones before that too. The sight of the dark mark raised all the thoughts that he wished he could block out – and his confusion over Hermione was paramount within them. Could he really isolate himself completely once more? After all the kindness that she had shown him? After her keeping his drinking secret; after her defending him to the other students – to her friends? Wouldn't him choosing to forgo any further interaction between them prove all those people right; and only damage further the courtesy and generosity that she had extended to him? Oh… he didn't know… Every eventuality seemed to bring fresh problems with it, and that made the whole thing worse. Hoping for some relief, or some clarity, he selected one of the blades that he had been holding onto and held it between his fingers, poised. The action was automatic – indicative of how many times he had done it before – he lowered the blade and drew it across his skin. He felt no pain, rather a dull numb sensation as though that patch of skin had been treated with lidocaine. He repeated the action, again and again until he lost count of how many times, across the section of skin that also bore the Dark Mark; wondering whether he could merely obliterate the mark by overlaying scars. Blood was springing out from the cuts, pooling at first at the corners before running down the side of his arm. He mopped at the blood with his other sleeve, it looked very red against the white of his skin. He sat for a considerable period, watching the blood flow, it took a very long time for the cuts to stop bleeding – and when they did he didn't dare to count how many there were. Dark red clots were covering the fresh incisions, dried blood smeared in between them. He knew he should really change the top that he was currently wearing, the right sleeve was damp from the amount of blood that he had soaked up using it; but he was exhausted… He replaced the blades back into the bag and laid it in the top drawer of his cabinet. He closed it quietly, lay back down onto his bed, and succumbed to sleep.
This was unfounded territory for Hermione; she had now encountered several situations in which she felt, not only at ease but, enjoyment with Draco Malfoy. At first she had primarily been acting out of obligation because of Professor McGonagall's request, but that had changed. She couldn't be sure exactly when that change, from requirement to voluntary involvement, had happened – it had seemed so incremental that she hadn't even noticed. Perhaps it had been during that evening in the Room of Requirement when she had helped him recover, and when he had vocalised just how isolated he really was. But it could easily have been since then also… Now that she had spent a little bit more time talking to him, her previously held opinions about him had shifted. He had always acted tough, acted like the hard man; but she could see from his eyes how false that portrayal of himself was. His eyes held no malice, they were not filled with anger or hatred; they were empty and young – like those of a very young child, cause essentially that was what he was. He had never experienced the safe space to explore and identify who he was and what he believed in without the threat of retribution and recrimination - and arriving at adulthood without having been able to do those things could cause issues. Draco had never had the opportunities afforded to the other teenagers because of his parents – and even while he had been at Hogwarts there had always been eyes watching him, ready to report back any misdeed or sympathies that might have been conflicting with what he was meant to be. Perhaps if things had been different Draco might have had the opportunity to break away from his parents and make his own mind up about himself, but circumstances had prevented that. The rise of Voldemort and his parents pledged allegiance had drawn him in without the possibility or opportunity for him to protest. Perhaps Draco would have been a very different person if the Dark Lord had not come to power; but then, the same might be said for her. She had developed through a time of immense oppression, she had persevered, become determined with those causes passionate to herself, and made the choice to stand up and fight. But she couldn't imagine what might have happened if she hadn't had the support of both her parents, and Ron and Harry… She had grown to be adjusted, understanding and comprehending of the world around her; Draco hadn't. And his approach into adulthood, his return to Hogwarts and his silence, his isolation and his drinking were all signs that there were issues going on with him – but it was up to him whether he wanted to deal with them.
The War had been responsible for lots of casualties, but perhaps it had been kinder on those who had been fighting against Voldemort. They had been suffering for the sake of the greater good, against oppression, and against tyranny; their injuries and sufferings had seemed justifiable, and in the long run they would be more easily understood. Draco's wounds, although perhaps not physical and visible, were just as real as those who had the marks as proof of warfare. It's difficult to see a wound if its situation is not a cut upon the body or a broken bone, but that does not mean that it is not real. If a wound is located in the mind, it can be just as dehabilitating as if an entire limb has been removed; and it is worse because no one can see it. If you can't see the wound then how do you know that person is injured? And if you don't know that they're injured, how are you supposed to help and support them back to health?
But Hermione knew that there were wounds inside Draco's mind, she knew because she had seen them – and she wanted to help, she wanted to support Draco so he could heal… However with enmity and hatred pouring in at him from, it seemed, everyone – that was a more difficult task than it should have been…
November began with a flurry of excitement from the rest of the students within Hogwarts; the committee in charge of planning the Christmas ball had finally confirmed all of their plans with Professor McGonagall and received the green light to start advertising it – with the specific request that their advertising should promote that it was an inter-house event. So they had created a poster with all the details on it, and all of the prefects had received several each, with the instruction that they should be put up in as many locations as possible for November the first. So on the morning of the first, the attention of all the students was drawn to the large posters which had been hung up in their common rooms emblazoned with the words: 'Hogwarts inter-house Christmas Ball!' . Hermione admired the one upon the Gryffindor notice board with some pride; although she was only overseeing all of the committees she still felt, in part, responsible for the work they were doing – and consequently she was proud when she saw it was being done well. The posters that the group had come up with had the lion, the eagle, the badger and the snake all positioned around a giant decorated Christmas tree; and they had managed to perform a charm on the words so that each individual letter flashed blue, green, red and yellow in turn. They had obviously put quite a lot of effort into the poster – and it was paying off! As Hermione stood at the other side of the common room she could hear the excited conversations of the other students; the chatter in the Great Hall seemed louder too. While she was sitting eating her breakfast she heard nothing but positive comments – there was a group of third year girls sitting just along from her who were discussing what colour and style of dress each of them was going to wear. Even the boys didn't seem to be too disheartened by the fact that it was a ball; perhaps it was the inclusion on the poster of a sentence that read: 'Pluck up the courage to ask a partner or come with a group of friends.'. Hermione had suggested that the emphasis shouldn't be placed entirely on the boys, as often that just made them embarrassed – she remembered only too well how embarrassed Ron and Harry had been when they had to ask girls to the Yule Ball. The two of them had acted like ten year olds when it came to asking a girl to go to the ball with them – perhaps it had been because they were only in fourth year and both inexperienced with talking to any girl besides Hermione. Whether it was due to the 'come with friends' clause that they had included this time, or not, everyone seemed to be so much more open and welcoming to the idea of a Christmas Ball. Hermione only wished that they could be as open and welcoming to everything and everyone… but that didn't seem likely to happen anytime soon…
A/N: I hope you've been enjoying the story, I'd love to know what you think about this chapter/story so far! :)