And this is how it looks when I am standing on the edge,
And this is how I break apart when I finally hit the ground,
And this is how it hurts when I pretend I don't feel any pain,
And this is how I disappear when I throw myself away.

—"Breathe Into Me", Red.

.

One of the things Draco had deliberately not packed, was a mirror.

He stared into the one in the bathroom he had forgotten about, as the sunshine seeped through the tent's walls, cursing himself for being so unprepared for his own reflection.

It wasn't that he disliked how he looked. In fact, he was very much aware of how strikingly handsome his features had become over the years. Sharpening and softening in the most impossible of ways, he knew his smooth pale skin stretched over a gently sloped nose and high cheekbones. His eyes, a deep grey were imperceptibly alluring and bright despite the darkness hidden in their depths. He understood his petal-shaped lips which naturally turned down at the ends had girls fawning for a taste. His hair had developed a mind of its own over the years, refusing to be slicked back or parted in any way on his scalp. Instead, it hung in gentle, platinum strands over his forehead and into his eyes, the tendrils wispy and straight, lately tousled as if purposely messy.

Then there was the famous Black smile. Apparently any descendant of the Black family had a certain smile that was devilishly seductive. Torn between an actual grin and a smirk, it was the perfect blend of edgy and boyish. Devious and deceptively innocent.

So no. Draco Malfoy did not dislike his face.

He didn't hate himself either. It wasn't possible to be so incorrigibly arrogant and self-deprecating at once.

But he did hate the man he saw.

Boy. It was not a man he looked at; but a weak, spineless coward undeserving of adulthood but thrown into it forcefully. He saw a slave to Voldemort, a mindless lackey of the Dark Lord with nothing to offer but a lifetime of worthless devotion. There was the mask of a high and mighty pureblood, but underneath that, there was a little boy crying out for help.

It made him sick.

Taking a shuddering, shallow breath, Draco braced each side of the sink so tightly his knuckles turned whiter than his already snowy skin. His eyes focused on the drain hole in the sink until it was nothing but a blur in the presence of stinging tears. They settled at the brim, his eyelashes feeling heavy. Profiles of the people he knew swam through his mind, making him dizzy and almost sway off his firmly planted feet.

You dishonour the Malfoy name, son.

His father didn't even know the meaning of the title. He caught a glimpse of Lucius in himself, and that's all it took to break him.

Stay safe. I love you. Always remember that.

His mother had never agreed with the ways of Voldemort, but she didn't intend on disobeying Lucius anytime soon. She had claimed to have 'loved him too much', which Draco had highly doubted. Lucius wasn't capable of earning such an emotion. But she'd always attempted to be supportive, nonetheless. It wasn't her fault she was imprisoned just as much as him. Merlin, he hoped she was alright.

You are the filth here. You are everything wrong with the world, and you disgust me, Malfoy.

Granger's words had a larger impact on him than he could have anticipated. It wasn't that he cared what she thought of him, she was completely irrelevant. It was that she put all of his pain and insecurities into words. It was that she was saying aloud the truth.

And the truth was too much to bear.

Purely unintentional, his eyes drifted back to the glass in a momentary lapse of logic. His gaze locked with the one of the boy in the mirror and—

—It all fell apart.

For days he had felt so tightly strung, on the brink of losing it, though grappling at any and every sane thought to keep himself from throwing everything away. It had taken a large deal of self-control, patience and mental stability. But now, as if he'd pulled at a stray thread, the stitching that kept him from losing it unravelled within him.

His hands shook uncontrollably, slightly at first, but more vigorously when he tried to control them. It was his fault for trying. He had no control now. No power, no say, not even in with his own body. Lungs burning, he tried to gasp for air, but no breath seemed enough to fill the hole in his chest. Everything was spinning, fading and darkening and just too much for him to handle.

The Draco in the mirror was smirking at him. How was that possible? He was sure he was panting, bloodshot eyes widened wildly and cheeks blazing with the blood rushing to them. Then how in Merlin's name was Mirror Draco smirking, eyebrows elegantly raised and expression cool and collected? Mirror Draco's lips shaped into words, but he couldn't hear them. They rang in Voldemort's voice clearly through his murky head, however.

Break, little Malfoy.

"No—no—" He started muttering, the words flowing out recklessly. He was losing it, he was going insane. He was insane. "no—"

Mirror Draco laughed mockingly at him.

"NO!"

Quick as lightning, though completely unaware of the action, his fingers curled into a fist and—

Smash!

The Draco in the mirror cracked into a dozen distorted pieces, his smile shattering into tiny shards of glass. His ears were ringing, the blood pumping hard in them. There was more than one of him now, of different sizes in different irregular pieces, staring back at the real one. Who was the real one? He didn't know. He didn't know.

Thick red liquid trickled into the eyes of the various Dracos, but they seemed unaware.

Slowly, he looked down at his fist; the skin torn and painted in red.

Malfoy. There was a distant drone in the back of his mind, but he paid it no attention.

The skin on his knuckles were ripped apart, blood oozing out of them and covering his whole hand in 'pure' blood.

"Malfoy!"

The thought made him laugh. Pure blood. It just looked like blood. Short barks of laughter escaped his lips and even though he knew they sounded hysterical, they were filling the air.

The curtain to the bathroom was suddenly yanked back, a figure emerging into the space.

"Malfoy?" The voice was soft and soothing, though laced with worry and what was that?—fear. "Oh Merlin. What did you do?"

The laughter wouldn't stop, as he stared at his fingers and only his fingers. They kept bubbling out whilst hot tears dropped onto his hand, watering the blood.

A warm hand reached out and gripped at his wrist. He was numb everywhere, everywhere but where the stranger's skin met his. That's where his nerves sparked, where the blood rushed to, where he felt alive.

Willing his eyes to tilt up, he caught a glimpse of the person the hand belonged to.

Granger.

She was speaking, her lips were moving and her eyes were shiny, but he couldn't hear her. The ringing was too loud. His heart pounding was too loud. The voices were too loud.

She was hazy at the edges, less vivid each passing millisecond. He watched confusedly as the darkness licked at her, slowly, then faster until she disappeared.

Everything was spinning. That wasn't normal. The ground felt ripped away from underneath him, and before he could decipher what was reality and what was a trick of his mind, he felt himself tumbling down a hole into nowhere.

And it all went black.

.

.

Silence.

That was the first stage in his recovery. He had experienced enough breakdowns to know the transition back into the cruel reality. The muddled up thoughts and sounds had all droned out after a while, and it was eerily silent in his head.

His eyelids felt glued to his eyes, but when he managed to open them, he wished he hadn't.

It was then that he realised the slow warmth spreading through his body as it started to function to consciousness. Blood rushed to muscles which felt the weakest and his head swam with a swarm of thoughts that was suddenly stopped short with the sight in front of him.

A second or so of adjusting to the brightness of the day, his eyes greedily feasted on his surroundings, trying to piece together logical thoughts.

Oh, his bed. That's where he was. With his lower torso under a thin blanket, his hidden fingers fingered the soft fabric he was cocooned in, vaguely wondering how in Merlin he got here.

The sore hand, however, was in someone else's gentle hold.

Refraining from flexing his finger muscles, his eyes travelled from the nursing hand to the elbow it belonged to, and further up to the fixated and focused gaze of his cuts. Her unbraided hair shielded her face from his unwavering eyes, and as if she'd overheard his thoughts, she swiftly pulled back a lock of messy chestnut hair to tuck behind an ear.

He blinked as her profile came into view, unwilling to believe it.

Salazar save him.

Her alabaster skin, sun-soaked and almost radiant in the warm hue, softly slanted over supple features the grime and dirt couldn't hide if it tried. Large honey eyes narrowed in concentration at his stinging knuckles, long eyelashes kissing flushed cheeks whenever she blinked. Her teeth snagged the plush flesh of her bottom lip as she held up his hand to her curious eyes with delicate fingers. Her cupid-bow lips had suffered from dehydration whilst at the Manor, but the pink tongue that constantly darted out and swiped over them seemed to be healing them quickly. There was a splattering of barely-there freckles across her cheekbones, and he realised he must have been staring hard to notice such detailed features.

Skin brushed skin as she whispered healing charms under her breath and the open wounds on his hand stitched back up. The muscles in his upper arm bunched at the contact, but Draco gathered whatever self control he had left to keep her under the delusion that he was still unresponsive. He didn't want to think about why he working so hard to watch her longer, and like every other time a betraying thought invaded his mind: it was shoved back.

Her thumb brushed over his knuckles gingerly, as if she was worried he would break.

Because she saw him break.

Why did she have to do that. Why did she have to touch him. He noticed in horror as his body reacted to her touch; her soothing, promising touch. A shiver ran down his spine, and without approval, his fingers twitched in her palm.

Head whipping around, her eyes snapped to his, catching them before he could pretend any further. Brown locked with grey and the breath was knocked out of his lungs. Unable to look away, he found the way she looked straight at him had his heart threatening to shatter his ribcage. Emotions swam through her glossy eyes in a flash; surprise, relief, guilt and finally, pity.

Of course.

Brought crashing down from his swirling thoughts, he realised the reality of things. She was pitying him, and like every other fucking person who dared to; she was going to regret it.

"You're awake—" Hermione rushed out, instinctively gripping his fingers tighter as they were well on their way to being healed.

He snatched his hand back, the skin quickly craving the warmth she enclosed them in earlier as the cold pricked at him. "Sorry to disappoint, Mudblood." Draco hissed at her, angry at her, at himself, at everything.

Shaking her head absently, she tried to reach for his hand again, but at his cold scowl, her hand stopped mid-air. "Are you okay?"

Draco ripped the blanket off, feeling all too warm and all too cold. He stood up, knocking over some pillows as his head swam. Biting back a groan, he flexed his fingers and barged past her, almost toppling her chair over.

She followed him in shock, stopping a feet behind him in the middle of the tent. "Bloody hell, Malfoy. Are you alright?"

"What, going to rub salt into the wound?" His lip curled. "Planning to hold this over me, hmm, Mudblood?"

"What are you talking about?" She had the nerve to say.

"Fuck me." A cold bark of laughter left his battered lips. "Mudblood's playing dumb."

Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms in a moment of fury before loosening them and swallowing loudly. "If you're talking about earlier—I'm in no place to judge—"

"Front row seat to your enemy's turmoil. Forgot to ask: how was the show?"

"That's not—"

"Don't fucking pity me, bitch."

Clenching her jaw, Hermione spoke through clenched teeth. "I'm not pitying you, Malfoy. We're in the middle of a war. You have every right to show weakness once in awhile—"

"I was not showing weakness." He said lowly, dangerously, eyes flaming.

"Oh, get over yourself—"

"What, did you just say to me?"

And just like that, with his superior tone, with his arrogant and alluring demeanour, he made her snap.

She took a shaky breath, fingers wringing together roughly in front of her. "I can't take this anymore."

"Do you mind?" He said blandly, inwardly celebrating a twisted sort of victory. "I can't think over the constant shrill of your voice."

"What is wrong with you?" She screamed at him, ready to hex him if need be. "You sadistic, fowl cockroach."

"Those words seem eerily familiar. Recycling used material? I deemed you better than that."

"I'm trying to help you, Malfoy! Why can't you just let me?"

"Don't do me any favours, Granger. I'm perfectly capable of disgusting myself, you don't need to—"

Her voice inherited a soft, helpless tone. "Enough is enough. I'm not arguing with you every minute of every day. I'm sick of this, and frankly, I'm tired of living like this." Her eyes rose to meet his. "I should leave."

"Leave?" His heart had somehow crawled into his throat. "And where the fuck would you go?"

"Does it matter to you?"

He merely pursed his lips, willing the words to remain trapped.

She nodded, as if she understood his silence, and started to button up her jacket. "I refilled your flask with some water. There's a stream not too far north, and I noticed some fish underwater, so you don't have to worry about breakfast. I would have made a fire, but we're surrounded by trees, and the smoke could give away your location so you can just charm the food to cook." She pulled her hair into a ponytail quickly, before leaning down and strapping up her laces. "Your hand's almost healed, but you should bandage it just in case any cuts reopen. Oh, and I borrowed a book—"

"—What are you doing?" He stared at her, his blood pumping rapidly in his ears. All the things she said whirled in his head, making him almost dizzy.

"Leaving."

"You're just going to—what, find somewhere to hide? Without food, or water or any sort of shelter, you're just going to walk towards your death?"

"I can manage on my own, Ferret." She narrowed her eyes at him sharply, shouldering her bag and brushing her trousers off as she stood. "I'm not some princess who needs rescuing from the big bad forest." Her eyebrows rose. "Besides, you don't give a shit, so why bother?"

"Just because I don't give a shit doesn't mean you're going to go commit fucking suicide out there."

"One less Mudblood to taint the world, then."

There was a bitter taste in his mouth. "What in Merlin has gotten into you, Granger?"

"Reality, Malfoy!" She yelled, eyes widening and cheeks flushing with frustration at his bipolar attitude. "And the reality is; we can't stand being in the same room together without ripping each other's throats out."

"What a revelation that is." He spat out, unable to decipher what it was he wanted. She rolled her eyes and stalked towards the entrance, her head held as high as she proceeded to her doom.

Swiftly, Draco blocked her way. Crossing his arms and sneering down at her, he watched as she widened her eyes in surprise.

"There's a thin line between bravery and idiocy, Gryffindor; and you're straddling it."

"Godric, Malfoy. Will you just choose who you want to be, already?" Her arms were up in the air, flailing about as she tried to prove her point. "You either want me to stay, or you don't."

"I'm indifferent."

"There's that then." Panic began to spread through her bones, much more evident now than before as the anger clouded it. She really had no plan, no idea, no way to ensure her safety alone. "Now, if you will be so kind as to move."

Biting back a curse, he calmed himself. She knew how to get right under his skin and how easily she affected him was frightening, to say the least. He found that really, after thinking about it, he didn't want her to go. He didn't want her to stay, per say, but the other option seemed worse for some reason. Squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself to not fuck it up, he said one thing.

"Hogwarts."

She looked at him quizzically, unsure of what he meant. "What?"

"We're going to Hogwarts."

.

So that was intense. It's my first time writing such scenes, so I hope it was decent.

I'm loving the feedback, you beautiful readers. Do tell me what you honestly think of everything, the characterisation, the writing, the events. I'm beyond glad that you're liking it though. It makes writing this worthwhile.

A lot of you probably have exams coming up, or currently happening, so I wish you the best of luck. Try not to compulsively procrastinate like me, and remember: there's always a piece of Dauntless cake on the other side, so soldier on.

If that book reference didn't make sense to you, then I'm sorry for making you Google it.

Anywho, tell me what you thought!

Always,
— LiveLoveLaugh.