The rest of the week was largely uneventful, the highlight being the immense amount of effort Draco exerted in trying to keep his hands to himself at work. The only thing that made it bearable to be in her proximity for so long without contact was the knowledge that within minutes of leaving the office, she'd be back in his arms where she belonged.
In a bid towards normalcy, they went on several dates to establishments that he knew to be discreet, offering private dining. But the entire experience was stressful, and he was shit at hiding his feelings from her. The looks she gave him made that perfectly clear. Any time they went out, he was constantly vigilant, worried that someone would see them and leak it to the press, ruining his happy fantasy world where they could simply be together without interference.
Tonight, they'd gone to Tour d'Argent, and someone had wandered into their private dining room by mistake. He'd immediately panicked when he recognised them as a Ravenclaw a year ahead of them at Hogwarts. Seeing his distress, Hermione had darted after the intruder, promising to take care of it. By the time she returned, assuring him that everything had been taken care of and he didn't have to worry, the bands of anxiety had already begun constricting his chest. She'd taken one of his shaking hands in hers and Apparated them home. Now, he lay on the couch, his head in Hermione's lap as she stroked his hair, feeling truly pathetic.
"Draco, do you really think it would be so terrible?" she whispered to him.
He opened his eyes, looking up at her. The look she returned to him was searching and… sad.
"Do you not… want people to know we're together?" Hermione nibbled at her lip nervously.
How could she possibly think that's what this was about? He pushed himself out of her lap and gathered her into his arms. "Merlin, Hermione, of course not!" He should have expected this to come up sooner rather than later. She'd never been one to hide her feelings or her loyalties; of course she wouldn't understand. He should have known she'd internalise it. Damn Gryffindors.
"Love, I want everyone to know," he said, cupping her cheeks. "I just… I'm not ready to share you."
It was part of the reason, but not the whole reason, and he knew it. He was afraid — not that he could bring himself to admit it to her. This felt too good to be true. What if she came to her senses and realised that she had better prospects? It would leave him shattered. It was all still too new for him to trust in it, and if she left, he'd rather not have to read about the complete destruction of his heart every day in the paper for the next month.
Draco swiped a thumb across her cheek. "Can we talk about it after my birthday? It's only a week and I don't want to worry about the press vultures hounding after us. After that, we can figure out the right time and the right way to announce it."
Hermione nodded, giving him a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. He felt like a terrible boyfriend (because he was) as he kissed her, willing her to understand — to stay.
It was dark in his bedroom, but Hermione could just see the dim light of the stars glinting off his eyes as they lay tangled together. She traced the edge of his jawline with her finger before ghosting her thumb across his lips. He bit it lightly and she made a little noise of approval. She could feel him smiling at her before he tilted his head to kiss her languidly.
"I want to know about your life before Hogwarts," he said when they broke apart. Her skin pricked with goosebumps as his fingers wandered across her bare skin. "What did you want to be before you got your letter?"
"What?" she said, sounding more incredulous than she'd intended to.
"We don't have to talk now if you don't want to. You just… never talk about it, and I was curious." He kissed her again, giving her an opportunity to let the question go unanswered. "I want to know all of you," he whispered against her lips. His sincerity melted her — thank goodness she couldn't see his eyes; she might combust. His fingers continued their exploration, sending tingles up her spine as he pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw.
"I'd like that." She smiled. Wiggling even closer to him and nestling her head under his chin, she took a deep breath before she began. "Well, before Hogwarts, I thought I'd be a dentist, like my parents. It's a sort of Muggle Healer, but for teeth… But I always wanted to be an artist." His breath gusted against her, stirring the curls falling across her face.
"Really?"
"Not for a long while, now. But anyway, in Muggle primary school they have art classes once a week and I loved it. My best friend, Shannon, was an amazing artist… Like, true prodigy-level artistry. Her sketches were always so beautiful and, this may come as a shock to you," —sarcasm dripped from her voice— "but I don't like losing or feeling inferior, and so, I decided after a couple of years that art wasn't my calling."
"Hmm, another very Slytherin trait… Are you sure they sorted you into the right house?"
She scoffed at him.
"A very Slytherin response." She was sure he was smirking.
"You're terrible."
"I think you mean irresistible." This time, she could hear the smile in his voice.
She tried to roll away, and he pulled her back, locking her in place with his arms. "No, stay." He squeezed the air from her lungs and she laughed, nuzzling into him.
"Okay, but you have to answer something for me. What about you? What did you want to be before… before the war?"
His grip loosened, and he rolled onto his back, lying beside her, his arm pillowing her head. It was quiet for a time and she flipped onto her side, pressing her body against his side in order to look up at him. She traced idle shapes onto his chest, waiting.
"I wanted to be an Auror," he whispered. "It's… it's obviously not something I can do now." He huffed a humourless laugh. "When I was young, I liked the idea of being able to help people, to be somebody's hero. It sounds stupid, I know, especially coming from someone like me. My father worked hard to push such 'nonsense' out of my head. He said such work isn't fitting for a Malfoy. But until Voldemort, I'd always hoped…" He sounded so vulnerable, she just wanted to hold him — so she did. Words wouldn't help make this any better.
"You mentioned your parents earlier," he said after a time. Her hand froze momentarily in panic, before she resumed slowly tracing patterns on his skin. "You don't talk about your family. Will you tell me about them? Do you have siblings?"
"No," she responded immediately, and swallowed hard. Trying to work up the courage to respond, she focused on the contact of their skin and the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. As she mirrored his breathing, she felt some of her panic dissipate. His fingers worked their way into her hair and played with her curls — surely he'd noticed the change in her breathing.
"No, you don't want to talk about it? Or, no, you don't have any siblings?" he asked carefully.
Silence stretched between.
"I… no, I don't have any siblings," she began, her voice thick. "My parents… My parents live in Australia. I, um… I sent them there during the war. It's not really something I talk about… ever." Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to keep them from overflowing. The only person who knew what had happened was Ginny, and she'd only told her after a particularly awful (related) night terror. Ron and Harry knew that something bad had happened. When they finally asked her about it, she'd had a full panic attack and Ginny told them to leave it — they'd never asked again. She'd been working on this — on opening up and being vulnerable with him. It was her natural inclination to wall herself off, but now was her chance to make a different choice.
"It was the beginning of seventh year: Voldemort had returned and Muggles and Muggle-borns were disappearing. Everyone was afraid of what was coming. My friendship with Harry was common knowledge, and I knew that they'd do anything to get at him… They'd try to get to him through me if they could and I couldn't afford to give them any leverage… and… I couldn't stand the thought of them hurting my parents." She felt a tear track down her cheek.
"So, I made it so that they didn't know who I was… I removed every trace, even the pictures… I made it so that they didn't have a daughter… I… I Obliviated them." She felt Draco's sharp intake of breath as her voice broke. He pulled her to lie atop him as he cradled her against his chest.
"Oh, Hermione…" he breathed. He rubbed his hand up and down her spine soothingly and bent his head to kiss away the tears that were streaming down her cheeks.
Draco could likely guess how this story ended, but when her silent sobbing abated, she continued. "I gave them new names and sent them away… They always loved Australia and I wanted them to be happy. I planned to fix it. I promised them I'd bring them back." Another shudder wracked her body, and he held her tight. "But… I couldn't..." The words were nearly inaudible.
"I did anything and everything I could think of. I read every book, talked to every Mind Healer or Curse-Breaker I could find. I researched experimental potions and spells. None of it did a damn thing… The war had gone on too long and by the time it was safe to bring them home… I only wanted to save them," she choked out, before more sobs took control of her body.
"You did everything you could, love," he said soothingly, rubbing circles into her back. "And, for the record, you did save them. I know that he would have done terrible things to your parents if he'd been able to find them. I saw him do it to others…"
She wasn't sure how long they lay there, her tears dropping onto Draco's chest as he held her close, stroking her back, her arms, her hair — letting her grieve. Hermione felt so safe, wrapped in his arms. After the war, she couldn't let herself break down or be vulnerable in front of others (for a variety of reasons), and several months ago, he was the very last person she'd have allowed to see her like this. But here she was and here he was, holding her tightly to his chest, like she was the most precious treasure on earth.
So quiet she could hardly hear him, he whispered, "Thank you for trusting me, Hermione." And placed a kiss on the top of her head.
She almost started crying again. The floodgates that regulated her emotions were, apparently, faulty.
Eventually, her tears dried, and she anchored herself once again to his breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest. She would have thought he was asleep, if it weren't for the soothing hands still painting trails across her body.
She angled her head so that she could see the shadowy outline of his head and shoulders above her. "Draco?" He hummed in response, the sound rumbling loudly with her head pressed against him. "Tell me something no one else knows."
He inhaled deeply, and she wondered if he wouldn't respond. It was getting late, and she was exhausted. Maybe he didn't want to talk about anything else heavy right now… or ever. Just because she'd shared didn't mean he was obligated to.
"A few months before the end of the war, when the Dark Lord was still staying at the Manor, I had a mental breakdown that almost killed me. It was right after you…" She moved her hand up to caress the side of his neck and felt his throat working. "After you were… I don't want to talk about this if it's triggering for you."
"No, it's okay. It's different when I'm with you. I feel… safe."
"Alright. Well, after they tortured you in front of me and I stood by like the fucking coward I am, something snapped… I couldn't handle it anymore. My mind just… broke. All the stress — the wrongness of everything that I'd been slowly waking up to — it was all too much." He took a deep, calming breath. "I got really sick, and I didn't know what was happening. There was no fever, and every diagnostic charm we ran showed nothing unusual.
"I could hardly get out of bed. For days, my body felt like it was on fire and I couldn't breathe, like I was being crushed. My mother tried to hide it, but the Dark Lord demanded to see me and there was nothing she could have done. My father brought me before the Dark Lord and he tore my mind apart with Legilimency, trying to see if it was Potter who was there that night. Honestly, my mind being in shambles is probably what saved me, since I could hardly manage to Occlude. The Dark Lord would have sensed it immediately if I had, anyway. He couldn't find anything, but that didn't stop him from making an example of what happens when you fail.
"I… It never really stopped after that. It was one mental health crisis after another. Of course, I didn't understand what was happening and my parents sure as hell wouldn't send me to a Mind Healer. They couldn't have the family looking weak," he said bitterly. "It was easier for them to just ignore the fact that I was drinking myself into oblivion regularly. I was hospitalised quite a few times; Father spent a fortune keeping it quiet.
"Honestly, I don't know how I didn't develop a dependence, I really should have… I didn't stop until I was sent to Azkaban, and picked right back up where I left off when I was released… I remember hoping that perhaps Mother wouldn't find me soon enough… that maybe I could just slip away." She held him tighter, trying to help banish the dark memories. "So, that went on until Mother finally got desperate and shipped me to America. Which is probably a story for another day."
Hermione's mind was reeling. She'd expected something like… well, she didn't know what she'd expected him to respond with — but not that. His muscles were tense beneath her and the soothing circles had stopped. Was he worried about her judging him?
"I used to abuse Dreamless Sleep Potion," she admitted to him in a rush, voice shaking with nerves. "After the war, I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see it all over again…" She shuddered. "I was practically a zombie and St. Mungo's was prescribing it to everyone after the war; they didn't know what else to do and well… we know how that turned out." She laughed drily — it wasn't until after the war that the wizarding community began considering how habit-forming certain potions were. And it wasn't until it had become an epidemic that the Ministry took notice, although potion abuse had been going on for years. "I have rules in place now, with Ginny, when I do need to take it." She lifted her head from his chest to look at him. "But for some reason, I don't have the nightmares when I'm with you."
Draco's hands lifted to cup her face. "Merlin, I had no idea. Are you still dealing with flashbacks and nightmares so frequently it's affecting your health?" he asked, concerned.
"When we started dating, yes." His thumbs ghosted over her cheekbones. "But it's better now, for the most part. I think it's because I can't really ignore it anymore. You remember how I was when we first started working together? It was worse for me than it had been in years. But, after spending more time together and being forced to confront it, the triggers stopped affecting me as much."
"You know, love, that's a huge part of what the Office of Behavioural Health Services will do: help people confront these things in a more controlled environment. You had flashbacks and night terrors for years and then I showed up and made everything worse for you before it got better. That's a shit way to go about it. Gods, I feel like an idiot for not seeing it. You know I'm here for you when you're ready, right?" he asked, reminding her of his offer to treat her back when they were reluctant colleagues.
"I know." She pressed a kiss under his ear. "Thank you for being patient with me."
Her limbs were heavy, but she felt light. Feeling emotionally vulnerable, but not understanding how to express what she was feeling right now in words, she kissed him slowly. When her breathing sped up and her hands began a more detailed exploration of his body, he broke away.
"Hermione, love. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I need to sleep. It's past 3am and we have to work tomorrow." She laughed against his chest and he rolled them onto their sides, facing each other, and gathered her close. "Besides, I don't think I can handle any more adrenaline tonight. My heart might give out."
"I know what you mean." Smiling into his chest, she felt so close to him, so safe, so… loved. It was almost too much, too fast. The intensity of her feelings for Draco should scare her, but strangely… they didn't.