The day passed by uneventfully. Hermione was glad to notice that she felt a little sharper in classes, and shied away from conversation a little less, but she still felt exhausted by the time they were all heading down to dinner. Malfoy's words rang in her head, and they were the only reason she forced herself to follow Ginny into the Great Hall that night. She ate, though it was only picking. She had thought about just sitting there with an empty plate, but she could almost feel a pair of pale grey eyes studying her from across the room, so she forced down what she could.
At the end of the meal she rose, bidding goodnight to her friends, who seemed in no rush to return to their common room. So, she set off up the stairs alone. She'd been walking for about 2 minutes before she heard a quite, confident gate strolling up behind her, and soon Malfoy fell into step beside her.
'Well done, Granger.' His voice was low, almost a purr, and before she knew it she was turning her head to beam up at him. His eyes danced with the same expression he'd had at breakfast, and she blushed and looked away again. They strolled to their common room in companionable silence, and once again he held the portrait open for her and followed her inside. She shed her cloak by the door, and made her way across the common room, sinking into her favourite sofa, book already in hand. She was stiff, but not yet in pain, and she wanted to finish her chapter before she had to get up again and take another potion.
'Um.' She looked up to find him standing by the door, watching her with slight confusion. She cocked her head, and he stepped into the circle of chairs. 'Are we not ... going to ... you know ... ' She paused for a moment, unwanted and decidedly inappropriate images flashing through her mind, before she realised his eyes were now studying the Healer's book by her side.
'Oh. Oh! No! Sorry, I must have forgot to mention this!' She hastily picked up the book, and held it out to him. 'They recommend that the spell is only done once a week, to allow for any final processing, in case the memory needs a little more time.'
'Oh.' He looked slightly disappointed, then rallied himself elegantly. 'OK, no problem. So Monday nights then?' He reached out and grasped the book, and she almost gasped at the static that seemed to jump between them as his fingertips brushed hers. Judging by how his eyes widened, he'd felt it too. They froze, staring at each other for a long while, before Hermione finally tore her hand and her gaze away, her cheeks bright red.
'Y-yes.' Her voice was husky, and she cleared her throat. 'Yes, Monday nights.'
'Sounds good.' She heard the forced calm in his words, and studiously focused on the pages of the book before her as he turned away to sink into his armchair and began flipping through the book.
Silence once again fell over them, and it didn't take Hermione long to get engrossed in her book again. She had reached a particularly interesting section when something distracted her. Her skin was prickling. It took her a while to differentiate this from her usual pain, and a little longer to realise what it actually was. Someone was watching her. She tried hard to ignore it, but the pain was once again building and her patience was very thin.
'What, Malfoy?' she snapped, eyes finally meeting his. He didn't seem affected by her tone, just kept his gaze level as he surveyed her.
'I think we should talk about what we saw last night.'
She sighed irritably. That hadn't been part of the deal. They were just supposed to cast the spells, and be glad that their haunting memories were finally reducing. She uncurled from her reading position on the sofa and straightened herself, preparing to stand, when a shock of white-hot pain shot down her side. She hissed, and clamped her hands over the ribs, breathing slowly and coiling her torso in on itself, willing the burning to subside. As she regained control of her breathing, she slowly straightened once again and opened her eyes. She jumped slightly.
Malfoy was stood over her, concern in his eyes. He was already bending over her, reaching out his hand towards her ribs.
'I'm fine,' she bit out, glaring at him. His hand stilled but he looked at her calmly, and one eyebrow rose as he waited. After a short, silent stand-off she rolled her eyes and sighed, reluctantly moving her hand away from her ribs. He swiftly replaced it with his own palm, and she watched him, now so close to her, as he cast the healing spell. He was concentrating solely on her side, his other hand spread out on the sofa by her thigh to balance himself. She caught a whiff of his shampoo - green apples, and something woody. As quietly as she could, she took a deep breath in, hoping that if he noticed he would take it as a pained reaction. The scent was intoxicating.
Finally, the purple light at her ribs died, and she made to stand up with a gruff 'thank you.'
'Where else does it hurt?' She turned back to him, and almost got lost in the intensity in his eyes. His face was so close to hers, she could feel his minty breath ghosting across her lips.
'P-pardon?' she squeaked.
'Where else does it hurt, Granger? I saw you after ... after. You looked beat up to Hell.' He smiled apologetically at his comment, but didn't attempt to move away from her. 'I know that there must be other places, and I have to teach you the spell anyway. So, tell me.' She blinked at the commanding tone his voice took on, and had to pull herself back from swaying into him. Her traitorous body, for some reason reacting strongly to being bossed around. She held his gaze, however, and lifted a shaking hand to point to the back of her neck. His warm palm slid against her skin, and this time he uttered the spell out loud.
'Chronica reductia.' The magic tingled through his fingers and into her neck. She moaned slightly as the pain eased, and was sure that she saw his pupils widen a little at the noise. He cleared his throat softly. 'Where else?'
Very slowly, she raised her hand and pointed downwards. His eyes followed, and she indicated the inside of her right thigh. Her skirt had hitched up slightly, and through her sheer tights they could see a thin, pink scar, puckered slightly at the edge from a hasty attempt to close the wound.
Draco swallowed audibly, his cheeks flushing. He returned his gaze to hers, and yes, his dark pupils were now very wide, bordered by thin slivers of silver. She gasped softly as his palm brushed her knee, his fingers tickling the inside of her leg as he made his way to the spot she'd indicated.
'Here?' His voice was a deep rumble in his chest.
'Yes.' Hers was a breathy whisper.
His palm closed around her thigh, and she bit her lower lip to contain the small whimper that threatened to escape her at the contact. His eyes dropped to her mouth and he let out a quiet, almost feral growl.
'Don't do that.' His voice was barely audible, but she heard him anyway. She swallowed hard herself, releasing her lip, then blinked as the tingle of his magic washed up the inside of her thigh. It receded quickly, and he moved away from her, breaking the connection to whatever had been passing between them. She realised she was panting. She looked up at him, confused about why he'd pulled away, and she watched as he fought to regain control of himself. He reached up one hand and brushed it agitatedly through his blond locks, and when he looked at her again she could see that his pupils had returned to their usual size. He breathed out, and the mask slipped into place once more. Shoulders and back straight, slight smirk pulling at his lips, casual, easy. He finally broke the silence around them. 'Show me.'
'W-what?!'
'The spell, Granger. Show me.' Hermione snapped her eyes away from his and re-focused on her body, mentally feeling out the usual pain spots. There was only one left. She raised a slightly trembling right hand and pushed up her left sleeve. She heard him suck in a breath, but she couldn't meet his gaze. She just wrapped her fingers around the word scrawled into her arm and mentally repeated the spell he'd shown her. Purple light flared under her fingertips, and the stinging sensation that was ever-present in her arm finally eased. She wanted to look up at him, proud that she'd mastered the spell, but the air was suddenly thick around them and she found she couldn't meet his gaze. It was very quiet.
Well, that's it, she thought bitterly. The only person who didn't pity me, gone. Ah well, it was nice while it lasted.
The sofa cushion next to her sank, and she looked up to find Malfoy sitting next to her, his eyes glued on her arm. Quickly, he grasped her wrist and pulled it closer to him, his eyes intent on the word scrawled into her flesh. Hermione just gaped as he ran a gentle fingertip over the raised letters, and finally, finally he looked up at her. She recoiled slightly. There was no pity in his eyes. Just pure rage.
'They couldn't heal it.' It wasn't a question.
'N-no.' The anger was rolling off him in waves, and the power of it scared her somewhat. 'They ... they really tried. For a long time, but ... ' She trailed off and looked down at her arm, held between them in his gentle grasp.
'Tell me,' he breathed.
'They think the b-blade was c-cursed, or something. Th-they gave up trying.' She blinked away her tears and looked up at him. His lip had curled back in a snarl of disgust. At her? At her permanently damaged flesh? She tried to tear her arm away, but his grip suddenly tightened.
'That fucking bitch.' His voice was choked with fury. 'I'm glad Mrs. Weasley did for her. She had it coming.' He looked down at her arm again, and his face softened. Then he did something that made Hermione's heart all but stop.
He bent over her arm, and brought it to his lips, kissing the word gently.
Hermione felt her jaw fall open. Malfoy. Malfoy had kissed her arm. Malfoy, the boy who had openly used that slur against her for years. Malfoy, whose family member had inflicted this damage on her. She managed to regain some of her composure as he raised his head once more to look at her.
'I will find something.'
'Wh-what do you -'
'I'll find a way, Granger. I'll find something that will heal this. I'll search high and low, I'll read every book there is about healing scars. I won't give up. I swear it.' His eyes were so fierce, so determined, that she didn't doubt for a second that he would. She took a deep breath.
'I want to tell you about my dream.'
'You don't have to,' he said quickly, concern filling his features. Her heart swelled slightly, and she slid her arm out of his grasp to clasp one of his hands in hers.
'But I want to,' she said, as reassuringly as she could. He stared at her for a long time before he nodded slightly. She sat back in the sofa, letting their entwined hands fall to the cushion between them, and began talking. She talked him through how they had been captured, how it was that Harry's face had looked the way it did. She spoke openly, for the first time, about how it had felt to be tortured. How it had felt like hours, days of pain, before she was rescued. How her heart had broken when she heard Ron's voice calling to her from somewhere in the mansion. Tears flowed at this point, but he just squeezed her hand and let her cry, waiting until she was ready to continue. She gulped her way through the rest, filling in the gaps, about Dobby's death, about the days at Shell Cottage after, and she told him about when the nightmares had started, that she hadn't known what to do, who to turn to, so she retreated into herself.
At last, her voice hoarse, her face wet, she stopped and turned her head to look at him. He looked back, and she was pleased to note the lack of pity in his expression.
'And now, here you are,' he said.
'Here I am.' She gave him a wan smile.
'You should be proud of yourself, Granger.' She shook her head, but his fingers tightened almost painfully and she stopped. 'You should. The strength it took to shoulder all of that, and the bravery it took to return here, to the place where ... ' This time he shook his head, then gave her a rueful smile. 'A true Gryffindor, through and through.' There was a bitterness in his voice that made her focus, the exhaustion of her revelation retreating.
'Tell me,' she whispered. He bit his lip, and she thought he would refuse, but then his mouth opened and it all tumbled out. How he had been blackmailed into harming people with the threat of his mother's death. The constant fear as Death Eaters moved into the mansion, observing his every breath. The pressure he'd felt from them, from Voldemort, from his father, to complete the tasks he'd been set. The guilt, the regret. His voice rose and he started to sob, and Hermione instinctively reached out and wrapped her arms around him. He cradled his face in the crook of her neck and cried, his body shaking in her arms. She ran her hand through his hair and allowed him to cry, more pieces of the story falling out of his lips, muffled against her collarbone.
Finally, he straightened up, but this time it wasn't with the classic Malfoy swagger. He looked broken, exhausted, and - she realised with a start - so much younger. Vulnerable. She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb as he wiped his face with a shaking fist. He took a couple of deep, steadying breaths, and his eyes flitted to hers.
'Thank you,' he murmered.
'What for?'
'For not laughing, or putting me down.' She heard her own breath hiss in between her teeth, and gripped his chin, tilting it up so that he had to look at her.
'Never,' she growled, and he blinked at her fierceness. 'We're in this together, Malfoy. No pity, no mocking. We can't carry on like we were. We need this. I need ... I need this.' His eyes danced between hers briefly, assessing, and finally his shoulders slumped as he dropped his guard and he smiled at her.
'Who would have thought, eh? Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, leaning on each other.' There was a slight tease in his voice, and she released his chin and chuckled slightly.
'Stranger things have happened.' He grinned then, and lifted his arm to press his lips fleetingly to the back of her hand. She felt herself blush as he let go and stood up, stretching and yawning.
'Well, that's well and truly wiped me out. I'm going to head to bed.' He turned towards his bedroom, then looked back at her, one eyebrow raised. 'Don't stay up too late, now.'
'Yes, Sir,' she teased. The reaction was immediate. His whole body turned back towards her, his back straightened and he held her gaze. She saw something that she couldn't identify flash in his eyes, and felt heat between her legs once again. It only lasted a moment, then he broke their eye contact with a shake of his head. When he looked at her again, his eyes were soft.
'Goodnight, Granger,' he murmered, and quickly walked away from her, back to his rooms, leaving her behind him on the sofa, confused and highly aroused.
