6.

Hermione was conscious of the scars that littered her body – bruises that never faded, dark curses that would never be purged; cuts that constantly reopened and chills that crawled up and down her spine, threatening to send her into a panic at any given moment.

On the outside, by the end of the war, she looked just as whole as any other twenty-five-year-old who hadn't seen and fought in a war, magic was lovely like that. It had a way of convincing you that your body hadn't been thrown around a room, pushed down an endless flight of stairs, burned, beaten and starved.

The body could be convinced of anything; the mind was not so similarly manipulated.

While bones could be regrown, skin grafted, and bruises healed; the mind becomes frighteningly more powerful – your biggest ally, your only cure; your most terrifying enemy.

In their own way, everyone had been ripped to pieces and put back together with crazy glue, good intentions and bad choices. No one had been spared, least of all, the children that had been enlisted to fight the war in the first place.

Harry and Ron weren't safe from it either; good lives now notwithstanding.

The war changed everyone even if they still looked all the same on the outside, but the outside wasn't the only thing left.

Hermione knew it better than anyone as she held Harry through episodes that made him scream, and allowed herself to be yelled at hoarse by Ron's explosive fits of temper during particularly difficult nights on the Horcrux Hunt and throughout the war itself. She held them both, murmuring platitudes of comfort even as they clawed and scratched and cried and yelled and hurt.

They always apologized after; eyes still haunted; bones still heavy.

But they could never return the favor.

They couldn't handle it when she screamed, when she yelled, when she cried; worse still was when she felt herself grow paralyzed, staring into nothing and murmuring aloud that she could die – right now – it wouldn't matter – it wouldn't change anything – please don't leave me, I'm afraid of what I'll do, please don't go -

What actually truly hurt was that they did.

Her darkness borne from their joint experience was too murky, too prickly, too much for them so they left, even when she begged and pleaded and held on as tight as she could – "Hermione, you can't…you can't expect us to do this…to stay to see you like this, I –"

Hermione was used to waking up to an empty bed; an empty tent; used to being alone, used to being left behind.

She learned to be used to it; her darkness had no mercy, either way, it didn't matter if she had someone to watch, and sometimes she wondered if there was even a point to being that person for Ron and Harry.

When Hermione felt her body grow rigid in the midst of sleep, she knew what it was, and forced her eyes to open and stare at literally anything else instead of whatever nightmarish memory her brain decided to conjure up – and then she saw Draco looking right at her; gun metal eyes practically mercurial in the whispers of the night.

For a moment, she wondered if her brain created him instead; imagined him out of thin air until he squeezed her bare hip, and his lips moved –

I can't hear you; what are you telling me?

Blinking once, then twice; the angle within her perception shifted bringing her under a tidal wave that threatened to drown her as the distance between them grew and the room around them spun to become something else.

Suddenly, she was looking up at him at a rather odd angle as he stood a few feet away – his eyes burning into hers – intense and unyielding – his fists were tightly wound, his knuckles skinned and bone peeking through – his lips moved and she heard nothing.

The cotton balls in her ears muffled his voice, but somehow she knew it was different – void of emotion, empty and cruel.

The sharp pain that struck her next had her gasping for air, and by then, Draco had moved and the picture in her head shifted once more.

With his head lifted and resting against hers, he murmured into her ear, his hand moving to rub slow circles at the base of her spine.

For several agonizing minutes, her reality altered between the comforting platitudes of a language she couldn't comprehend and his expressionless face as he watched the knife drive into her over and over and over and – "Stay with me, Granger, I'm right here."

Her breath was heavy as it was released and even harder to suck back in. She shuddered against a cold she didn't actually feel and mumbled back, "I'm scared."

"I know," he murmured, nuzzling her. "I am too but I'm right here. Just breathe with me and we'll wait for it to pass."

Her grip on him tightened. "Please…please don't leave me."

"I won't, I promise."

They lay together, tense and quiet bar the exaggerated breaths he took for her to follow.

Eventually, she fell into a fitful sleep, and Draco soothed the furrow in her brow and tightened the arm he threw around her waist, kissing her forehead before tucking her beneath his chin.

Aloud, he said to no one, "I've got you."

.

Hermione awoke slowly, aware of Draco's fingers carding through her hair as he fiddled with something and, only when she peeked out through her lashes, did she realize it was the Daily Prophet he was perusing.

"Did we make it to the front page?" she heard herself ask, voice still sleepy and hoarse from disuse.

He paused in his ministrations to glance down at her, smiled slightly, and then resumed. "We did, indeed. They even included a delightful picture of us, and my little speech in the restaurant captured Lady Greengrass' horrified expression perfectly."

She snorted quietly, nuzzling at his hip.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, and she hid her flush of embarrassment against his skin as she mumbled, "Alright…I'm sorry, about last night. I don't suppose that's how you'd normally end a date, is it?"

"To be fair, I haven't actually been on date since you dumped me in school."

"I didn't dump you," she denied, looking up to squint at him. "It was mutual."

"It was mutual because we agreed it was the right thing to do," he clarified, "but, if you also remember, I still didn't want to."

"And you thought I did?"

"You were better off without me," he said to the paper and she looked up at him curiously, scrutinizing the hard line of his jaw and the serious expression on his face.

He didn't actually think…?

Raising herself up by her hands and getting firmly in the way of his reading by getting nose to nose with him, she spoke. "Draco."

"Yes?"

"Look at me."

"You're not giving me much else to look at, Granger."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You can't turn the sass off for five minutes, can you?"

"I thought I was doing pretty well," he defended with a smirk, bumping her nose with his before returning to the topic, "What?"

"If I could be with anyone else, it would have been you. If it didn't mean we'd put each other in danger, it would have been you. If it didn't mean asking you to choose between Dumbledore and Voldemort, it would have been you and me and literally anywhere else in the world."

"I asked you for that," he reminded quietly. "Anywhere else in the world."

She swallowed. In another world, that's what she could have done – left everything behind – avoided war and torture and loss and pain – and ran. "I know, I just -"

"Have a responsibility," Draco supplied. "I know." Their noses brushed and he rested his forehead against hers. "And you still do and that's why you're still here."

Blinking, Hermione realized, "Is that why you're still here?"

He exhaled quietly before meeting her eyes. "I was never going to let you do this alone."

.

Harry looked seriously displeased. Hermione doubted it was because she was two minutes late for work.

Having casually greeted her secretary, she set her bag down and hung up her coat. She caught his cheek in a greeting kiss before walking past him to get behind her desk. "Good morning, Harry. What can I do for you?"

"What is this?" he demanded, the Daily Prophet in hand.

"A newspaper," she said, not even sparing it more than a two-second glance. "Not the best, I'm sure you're aware, but there's no accounting for taste I suppose."

"The front page, Hermione! What…what is this?" Harry shoved the paper in front of her, dropping it on top of a new stack of paperwork she had planned to begin working on as soon as she arrived. She sighed at the triptych on the front page – Draco and her at Hogwarts, the two of them attending a Ministry function (separately but the Prophet seemed to ignore that fact), and a picture from last night as they left the nameless restaurant. Truly, the angles the media could come up with were endless.

"Tabloids?" she queried and, at the unimpressed expression on his face, she sighed again. "What do you want me to say, Harry?"

"That this is all some kind of big joke!"

"That I'd land a date with someone that isn't Ron or that someone isn't a harmless airhead like Cormac?"

"Hermione, I'm serious!"

"So am I," she snapped and, before her temper could get away from her – God, why the hell did Harry always choose Ron over her? Why is it that he could never think about how things made her feel rather than how it would make Ron feel? - Hermione exhaled slowly and began again, "Draco and I have been going to the same court proceedings for several weeks now. He brought up some concerns yesterday, we talked in my office –" Hah! "– and for whatever reason, he asked me to dinner. That's all."

"Why was he going to the same court proceedings as you, what does he want?" Oh Harry, she despaired, only marginally concerned, so suspicious.

"It was about the Werewolf Registration Act." When Harry said nothing, Hermione rolled her eyes. "It was about Teddy, Harry; Draco was there for Teddy. Andromeda's got her hands full with him and she couldn't attend them herself so she asked Draco to go for her." To both their credits, it wasn't a lie; Draco had offered the information himself in the midst of their argument about the registration proceedings. She had attempted to find out when he and Andromeda had reconciled but he was not so willing to share.

Harry was quick to go on the defensive, "She didn't ask me to –"

"When was the last time you saw Andromeda? Or Teddy for that matter?" she asked sharply and her friend's cheeks instantly flared as he began to squirm in his seat. Hermione relented in a patient tone, "Harry, I really don't want to fight with you about this. It was just one date."

"Was it?"

"Well, I wouldn't say no if he asked again," Hermione allowed and, with just the right amount of bashfulness, she admitted, "I'm actually hoping he does. We had a good time together."

A scandalized gasp was heard at that moment from behind the door making him jump in surprise. And he defeated Voldemort, Hermione sighed. Circe, deliver me.

"Don't worry; they were bound to talk anyway. Frankly, Harry, I don't care. But what I do care about is what you think. I don't want you to be angry with me about this. You're my best friend and you're the only family I have left. Just, please, please don't be angry."

"How…Hermione, you know what he's done!"

"And we're better, somehow, because we were on the right side? Because we won?" she asked and, again, he shifted. "Harry, don't do this. Last night was the first time I ever felt really safe with anyone and, if anyone knows what we went through, it was him. For Merlin's sake, Voldemort was in his house, keeping him and his family hostage! How is that any different to what happened with Ginny? With you?"

"I...I just don't want you to get hurt, Hermione. Malfoy, you know, he isn't a good guy," Harry insisted.

"Do I? All I knew about him in school was that he hated you and that he was a bully and a jerk but war changes people. You know that." When he said nothing, and the chattering behind the door continued, Hermione finally cast a silencing spell, took a deep breath, and changed tactics. "I don't even know why I'm pushing you so hard to accept him; he might not even want to see me again." And the award...

Harry, supportive to a fault, fell right into her trap as he demanded, "Why wouldn't he? You're amazing! I thought you said the two of you had a good time?"

"Yeah, I did, and I think he did too. But I haven't been with anyone since Ron, really, and you know how that turned out." She waved off dismissively.

"Don't, what Ron did was –" Harry shook his head. "It wasn't right but that had nothing to do with you. Well, maybe a little, I mean...well, you are a bit of a workaholic but still...it didn't give him the right to sleep with Lavender when he was with you."

Progress.

...for Best Witch…

"I know," she agreed, "but it's still a blow to the self-esteem. Plus, I'm just getting to know this Draco. I know who he was, and I don't want to hold that against him, but it's kind of hard having to juggle those two things and my own insecurities. Do you understand where I'm coming from, Harry?"

...in a Daytime Drama...

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, a sure sign of his discomfort. "I guess…I just don't want you to get hurt or make a mistake in doing this…I mean, it's still Malfoy."

"It is, Harry, but he's been really nice since I got to see him again and last night really was wonderful. There's no harm in giving him a chance especially since you know I can take care of myself."

"Yeah…yeah I guess so. I'm sorry I came in here blowing my top, Hermione. I really was just worried about you."

...goes to...

"I know, Harry, I appreciate it," she said soothingly, smothering her triumphed smile.

...Hermione Jean Granger!

"I know it's probably the last thing on your mind," Harry began, "but what are you going to do about Ron when he finds out? He isn't exactly the most…level-headed; he's still convinced you'll take him back!"

She swallowed the bark of laughter that tickled her throat and covered it with a cough and, with more honesty and conviction than she had had throughout the whole conversation with Harry, Hermione reassured, "Ronald is nothing Draco and I can't handle."