Malfoy walked Hermione back to her flat in silence. The moon was sinking over the horizon and the first rays of lavender and pink were painting the sky when they finally reached her front door. Neither spoke as they eyed each other awkwardly.
"This doesn't make us friends," Malfoy finally said.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, of course not."
"Just making that clear," Malfoy said. "I wouldn't want you to develop some poor crush on me because I was your knight in shining armor."
Hermione chuckled mirthlessly. "No worries, Malfoy. You're hardly my type."
Malfoy looked affronted. "Not your type? Who is, then? Let me guess…Potter?"
She flushed, looking away. Malfoy's mouth dropped.
"Seriously?" he asked incredulously. "Potter?"
"No!" Hermione denied vehemently. "He's with Ginny."
"That doesn't mean you can't like him."
"I-He…" Hermione spluttered. "We are just friends!"
Malfoy arched an eyebrow. "My, my," he drawled. "You are getting quite defensive. Hey, it's no concern of mine if you have absolutely atrocious taste in men."
Hermione's amber eyes narrowed. "Harry is twice the man you will ever be," she huffed.
Malfoy chuckled. "Oh, love, I seriously doubt that."
Hermione blushed at both the term of endearment and the innuendo. "That's-that's not what I meant and you know it!"
"Whatever you say, Granger," he said smoothly, smirking.
"I'm going inside now."
He gave a mocking half-bow. "Be my guest." He began to walk away.
Hermione turned to her front door. Pushing it open, she paused.
"Er, Malfoy?"
He stopped and turned around, arching a brow.
"Thanks."
He stared at her, his grey eyes unreadable, before nodding curtly and walking away. Hermione sighed as she went into her flat and closed the door behind her, locking it. She walked across her messy living room to the bedroom, pulling off her damp clothes and donning a warm cotton nightgown. She tossed her wand on the dresser and went over to her bed. Sinking onto it, she snuggled deep under the sea foam colored comforter, falling asleep instantly. Her half-kneazle, Crookshanks , hopped up next to her and curled into a fluffy ginger ball by her pillow, purring deeply.
For the first time in months, she did not dream of mutilated bodies and glaring red eyes. Instead, she dreamed of pale blond hair, grey eyes, and an arrogant smirk.
Hermione awoke late in the day feeling energized and refreshed. She padded to the kitchen and made herself a sandwich, surveying the state of her flat as she ate. It was a mess. Dishes cluttered the counte rtop and unopened letters spilled off the polished oak table in the middle of the kitchen. Her fridge was nearly bare.
The living room was even worse. Assortments of dirty mugs were clustered on the black coffee table, the pale gold couch covered with clothes. Her floors needed sweeping desperately, and her windows were grimy.
"I've really let the place go," she said to herself. Crookshanks blinked his large golden eyes at her from his perch on the windowsill and mewed reproachfully. She glanced at her familiar shame-facedly. "And I've neglected you, haven't I?" Guilt swamped her. If she had gone through with it last night, who would have taken care of Crookshanks? She hadn't even considered him.
Crookshanks' bottlebrush tail twitched. Hermione sighed. "I'll make it up to you, I promise." The cat stood up, stretching, and then flounced from the room, squashed nose in the air. Hermione bit her lower lip and looked around the room again. This was going to take some work. She considered getting her wand, but dismissed the idea. Cleaning the muggle way would help clear her head.
Two hours later, her flat was sparkling. The dishes were clean and put away, the floor nicely swept, and the windows washed. She had even gone out and got some fresh flowers for the vase on the table. Standing back, she surveyed her work in satisfaction. It felt good to be productive.
Feeling a bit grimy herself, she went to her bathroom and stripped, turning the bath on hot and letting the steam fill the room. She added some lavender bubble bath and let the tub fill before sinking into the luxurious water with a sigh. She closed her eyes, feeling the tension seep from her body. She sank lower in the water and slowly washed her long brown curls, lathering her favorite strawberry-scented shampoo into a thick foam. She slowly slid under water to rinse it, and then picked up a bath pouf, running all along her body. She thought about Malfoy, and her cheeks flushed. She rested a hand on her chest, feeling her heart beating wildly. She wasn't into bad boys, she told herself sternly. No matter if they had rock hard bodies. Her body heated up as she thought about Malfoy's bare chest, rain drops sliding down his stomach toward his jeans. She bit her lip again, her hand sliding lower.
As her fingers stretched out and her hand slid lower down her smooth skin, she felt something rough on her thigh. Frowning, she glanced down. The bubbles had faded, and through the water she could see her arm. The ugly red scars were only slightly distorted by the water.
Mudblood.
Jerking her hand back up, she stumbled from the bathtub, sloshing water all over the bathroom floor. She tripped over her bathmat and fell, curling up in fetal position on the cold tile floor. Warm, silent tears slid down her face as she stared blankly at the bottom of her bathroom cabinets.
"Cissy, put the boys in the cellar! I'm going to have a conversation with this one, girl to girl," Bellatrix sneered, looking at Hermione. "That sword is meant to be in my vault at Gringotts, how did you get it? Did you and your friends take it from my vault?"
"I didn't take anything. Please. I didn't take anything!" Hermione fell to her knees.
"I don't believe it." Bellatrix drew a silver dagger from her cloak, pushing Hermione down and straddling her. Hermione's screams echoed through the air as the blade bit into her arm and her blood ran red, so red…
Hermione whimpered, curling up tighter on the bathroom floor. She clutched her scarred arm in one hand, hard enough to bruise. She should have known better. She didn't deserve happiness. She was nothing. Nothing but a filthy mudblood.