Just as Draco was resigning himself to showering alone — wondering if he'd come out of the bathroom to find her gone — he heard the click of the glass shower door opening. Twisting in her arms, he moved out from under the water, wiping his eyes to stare down at her. Her face was turned up towards his and her hair was a bramble patch. She looked good — she looked fucking spectacular.
Draco watched her take in not just the details of his tattoo, but the scars on his chest; he was afraid of how she would react to them. He had accumulated many scars over the years, but then again, so had she. Of all of them, he hated the Sectumsempra scarring the most. It was an ugly, jagged thing, cutting across large sections of his chest and down over one hip. The rest were smaller and more scattered, and perhaps he wouldn't be as self-conscious if it were only those: the reminders of his father's love, Voldemort's disapproval, and Bellatrix's lessons. As it was, despite his athletic physique, he preferred to leave his shirt on to hide them. The last thing he needed was anyone's pity for the poor broken boy.
"I know some of these," she mused, "but what is this one from?" She reached her hand up to trace the small scar cutting across his eyebrow.
Of course, that would be the one she asks about, he thought to himself. Moving away from her to buy himself some time before needing to respond, he lathered a loofah. He'd promised himself that he would be honest with her, that he wouldn't pull back or hide things like he was wont to do. But that didn't mean that he would ever enjoy bringing up painful memories, especially not at a time like this — especially not when they were about her.
"That was from some time ago," he said carefully. "Shattered crystal. I wasn't allowed to heal it… It's supposed to be a reminder of what happens when I fail."
"From the war?"
He nodded, still turned from her, silently begging her to leave it at that.
"Was I there?"
But she already knew… Of course, she knew. It's not as if he'd been particularly subtle. Sighing, he tried to decide what (and how much) to say, lathering his chest while he thought.
Hermione saved him from having to respond by speaking first. "At the Manor, when we were escaping, right?"
He felt a chill run through his veins and nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. It was one of the few memories that he still struggled to suppress, and it haunted him frequently.
She continued quietly, "The chandelier fell. Your mother pushed you out of the way. I was… well… I didn't realise you'd been injured too."
He nodded. It was hard to breathe, and the steam in the shower wasn't helping. Trying to steady his breathing — in through his nose, out through his mouth — the memory pressed in on him, threatening to overtake him. Hands trembling, he felt himself slipping, losing his grip on the present as Bellatrix's laugh echoed in his head… Hermione's screams—
"Draco." He gasped, suddenly able to breath, and gulping air as her hand on his arm banished the encroaching nightmare. His body was trembling slightly, and despite the heat, he felt cold.
He blinked, looking at her, his gaze catching on her seemingly unmarked forearm. Gently lifting her arm, he kissed along the hidden scar, feeling the slightly raised skin of the letters against his lips.
"This is the one memory I will never be able to suppress. That moment haunts me. Sometimes it's like I'm back there, like it's happening all over again." He let out a shuddering breath, grazing his nose along her arm before looking back up at her. "But it was also the night that I realised things had to change, that I was wrong. That he was wrong… I'm so fucking sorry, Hermione. I…"
"I don't blame you for that night, you saved Harry—"
"Please Hermione, don't," he cut in, grasping her wrists to keep her from touching him. "I was a coward and I would have had no qualms about turning him in if I thought it would save me. I was simply more afraid of what would happen if I told them the truth. Don't try to make me into something I'm not." He gritted his jaw, shame suffusing him, and tried to turn from her.
"You're right. The things you did were terrible." Hermione stopped him from turning away, cupping his face in her hands. "But you aren't that person anymore, and I know that… it's in the past Draco, we have to let it go." She stood on her tiptoes, kissing him, and the pain and bitterness of their shared past was stolen away, at least for the moment.
He didn't deserve Hermione's forgiveness or attention. She was too good for him and he was going to end up hurting her somehow… He didn't trust himself with her heart, and it terrified him.
Pulling his mouth from hers just long enough to speak the incantation to turn on the rainfall showerhead, he swallowed her shriek of surprise as water cascaded over them both. Curls weighed down with water, her hair was so long that it almost completely covered her breasts. If he hadn't known better, he could have sworn she was part siren.
"I wish more than anything that I could go back. That I could fix it, undo it…" he trailed off, pushing her drenched hair away from her face to look into her eyes.
She leaned forward, kissing him, and he tasted forgiveness on her lips, her warmth soothing the ache in his soul. This isn't enough… it's never going to be enough. It's going to fucking break me when she leaves.
Picking up the shampoo, he massaged it into Hermione's soft curls; she let out happy, contented noises that made him smile. He couldn't resist kissing her softly on top of her head, spitting bitter shampoo out of his mouth and making her laugh. A man could get addicted to that sound. Repeating the process with his conditioner, he was smugly satisfied that she now smelled like him. After gently washing the rest of her body (careful of anywhere that she might be too sensitive), he turned off the shower and wrapped her in a large fluffy robe, transfiguring it to fit her smaller frame.
Carrying her to the bed — despite her insincere protests — he laid her on the bed and kissed her gently. "Stay," he begged her, brushing loose strands of damp hair away from her face and peppering her with soft kisses. Her eyes were dark pools of amber as she smiled at him lazily, and his heart clenched as it skipped a beat. Instead of responding, she rolled to the side, making room for him to lie on the bed behind her. So he did. Climbing in next to her, he pulled her tight against his chest, inhaling the scent of her skin and burying his nose in her hair.
He'd keep her here forever if he could, frozen in this moment in time. Never in his wildest dreams (well, okay, he'd had many wild dreams about her, but none that he'd ever thought had a chance of becoming a reality) had he conjured something as perfect as this moment. Her body felt made for him with the way she fitted perfectly against him as he curled around her.
Draco pulled Hermione closer, and she clung to him as well. They fell asleep, tangled up in one another, and for the first time in many years, he slept through the night.