Metal strikes against hot iron in the pit of Hermione's stomach. She picks up her pace behind him. Just the very sight of the back of his irritatingly blond head sends sparks turning into flames. Malfoy had been constantly testing her patience that year.
It was only October.
She falters when she faces the gentleman's sign for the restroom he rushed into. With all the Gryffindor bravery she can muster, Hermione presses forward, gentle, and quiet steps easily occulted by the sounds of him gasping for air like he's drowning on land. She pauses, watches him silently with furrowed brows. He's slumped over a sink, his entire body limp as if the porcelain is the only reason he's even standing. His limbs tremble. Sweat runs down his face and he rolls up his sleeves shakily.
"Pl-please – Merlin, make it stop, please."
His voice whines and pleads. Malfoy crouches closer to the sink and starts to dry heave until his mouth makes wet noises that splash down into the drain. Hermione covers her mouth.
He wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry – guh."
Malfoy sobs uncontrollably, his voice hitching to a pitch that Hermione never thought she would hear come out of his mouth. His legs finally give out and he allows himself to fall. Hands still gripping the sink, he slams his head hard against it – once, twice, three, four times. Hermione tightens her hand over her mouth to hold back a gasp lest she be caught witnessing such a vulnerable moment. A question presses at the forefront of her mind.
Surely this couldn't all be because of his father being sent to Azkaban, right?
When Malfoy crawls on to all fours Hermione notices droplets of blood splatter on the floor from his head. He lets out a sharp, agonizing scream that startles her. She watches on in horror. Considering running off to call a professor, she takes one delicate step back, one foot out of the grave. She halts when a chill runs down her spine, his scream rolls on and on with his voice becoming scratchy and weak from the strain. Malfoy starts to dig his nails into his forearms.
She stays.
"FUCK!" He deepens his grip. "Fuck this!"
Malfoy's arms line with streaks of red as he scratches at his skin erratically. Hermione feels a pull to walk towards him from the center of her chest, but a cold rope keeps her in her place. He lets out a strangled whine. His fingernails move up from his arms to his head, he grabs at his hair as he let out a wet, strained scream. Malfoy devolves into a childlike voice.
"I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorr- "He gasps for air and continues to sob. "I c-can't. Please. Don't make me."
At war with the binding ties, she hesitates. She feels the beginnings of moisture freely dripping down her face. Sweat and tears mingle in a waltz. Hermione observes as her longtime enemy breaks into the most miniscule pieces that she's ever seen another human being turn into.
His arms shake as he alternates his frenzied grip in his hair, pulling in different directions as if to release the demon that tortures his thoughts. Malfoy gasps, his chest trembles. He hits a crescendo – his breathing becomes more sporadic than before, his body struggling to catch up to compensate for his need for oxygen. Hermione finally initiates a brave step forward when all at once – he stops.
Malfoy is silent, his body frozen in his pained position.
It reminds Hermione of a tragic painting; the image of the handsome Draco Malfoy on his knees in the dark old cellar-like restroom floor, hunched over with blood-stained hands in his stark blond hair. His icy blues bloodshot. It gave the impression of a fallen angel, the wings torn mercilessly from his back so that his only option left was to fall.
His hands fall limply to his sides, and he stares at nothing on the wall ahead of him. After an eternity, he moves. Malfoy reaches for something in his pocket and with trembling hands he touches his wand tip directly against his forehead. His breathing speeds up again.
"Mother," he speaks in soft, wavering sobs, "forgive me."
"NO!"
Hermione rushes forward, nearly falling on her face to get to Malfoy before he has a chance to act. She crashes into him and rolls them both on the ground, strategically flinging his wand underneath one of the stalls. Malfoy grunts in surprise. When Hermione realizes her arms are wrapped tightly around his hard body the entirety of her skin feels like it's been set on fire. She swallows.
Hermione pushes through her embarrassment and grabs the back of Malfoy's head so that she crushes his face into the softness of her neck. She shivers at the sensation of his wet nose and lips on her hot skin. Hermione gently cradles his head, attempting to comfort him as her mother does to her, but failing to find the courage to soothe him as thoroughly. She hides her vision in his neck.
Malfoy is increasingly tense in her awkward gesture. For a moment Hermione thinks Malfoy will shove himself from her and attempt to Avada her without his wand. Instead, he tries to push her away with her shoulders and she doesn't budge. He tugs at her harder, but she refuses to let go.
Malfoy doesn't stop trying to pry her off.
"Please." Hermione begs him. "Let me, Draco."
Tightening her hold around him with all the strength she can muster in her biceps, she feels his attempts slowly go from strong to feeble. Malfoy crumbles. He softens like a puddy in her arms all too drastically as if he's had the soul sucked out of him by a dementor. Malfoy's pointy face sinks painfully into Hermione's neck. He lets out a strangled sob.
His body begins to shake like a leaf at the mercy of Scotland's autumn winds. He devolves back to his previous sobbing and Hermione winces, holding him gently while her own face dampens. Malfoy breaks from his cries to take in a desperate gulp of air. He lets out a shout so painful that it hits Hermione right in the chest, she gasps as she feels it infiltrate - reverberate in the very walls of her body like a rubber band and finally strike at her very soul.
No one would come unscathed out of this war.
She knew this as an obvious fact - it was of a magnitude impossible to escape within the small magical community. However, the evidence was here, and it was horrifically startling. It was chilling her right to the bone as she lay there on the ancient, gritty restroom floor with her worst enemy crying in her arms. Her resolve hardens.
Hermione tugs her fingers through Malfoy's hair in a way that she hopes is soothing and hesitantly leans her head against his. She vaguely remembers something from her supplemental reading about subconsciously mimicking the breathing of those close by. It's then that Hermione realizes how fast her own breath is. Fighting past the deep blush on her skin, she lets out a deep, measured breath, letting her soft chest rise and fall against Malfoy's muscular one.
She continues to breathe slowly against him until finally she feels his breathing start to do the same against the hairs of her wet neck. Hermione rubs circles into his scalp. His crying becomes sniffles with occasional quiet sobs and his body shakes less and less. She feels him begin to stiffen.
Hermione yelps when he suddenly grabs her by her wrists, pinning them and herself against the cold floor. Malfoy stares down at her with wide eyes. She stares back up at him, feeling that she was seeing him for the first time. His gaze was moist and red, wild with a sort of unguarded innocence and wonder that reminds her of a flustered child. Dry blood streaks from his forehead down to his left cheek.
"Granger," he speaks with a harsh rasp, "what in Salazar's name?"
"O-oh." Her frazzled mind struggles to catch up to speed for a more intelligent response. "Uh."
When she bites her bottom lip, his eyes instantly follow the movement. She mirrors him, taking in the view of the plump soft pink that hovers above her. Her breathing speeds up suddenly. Hermione's gaze shifts to the rise and fall of his Adam's apple then back up to his eyes, startling when they meet. He searches her gaze and then her face.
His face pinches nastily. "Following me around now too, are you?"
Hermione watches as walls fly up to defend the open expression behind his eyes and her heart wilts. Malfoy tightens his grip on her. She winces and sends a nasty scowl his way then he returns it back to her with a mocking air. He slams her wrists against the ground.
"Speak, mudblood!"
"Let me go you savage!"
"Answer me." Malfoy's puffy eyes squint at her dangerously.
"I was- well, yes I was technically following you!" His expression darkens considerably. "But not for the reason you're thinking, Malfoy."
"Then why?" He scoffs. "Your little bleeding heart worried for the big bad Slytherin?"
"First of all, it's laughable for you to even suggest that there is anything big or bad about you." Hermione rolls her eyes. "Second of all, perhaps you recall our potions class earlier today?"
"What are you-" His brows furrow. "Really, Granger? You came after me because the Weasel exploded your potions assignment?"
"Ron did not do that – you and I both know it was you!" She wiggles futilely in his grasp. "I saw you riling him up when I was returning with ingredients. While you had him distracted Pansy dropped something in the cauldron – likely gillyweed from the smell and color of the explosion."
"I think the Weasel just likes the color red and the smell of his own farts." Malfoy smirks to himself. "Your boyfriend is braindead, swot. Accept it."
Her cheeks heat up and she sputters. "Damn you, Malfoy! I know you can't help but be a massive prick to Ron and Harry, but you will not mess with my assignments, understand?"
"How about you quit following me around mudblood – or else." Malfoy scowls down at her, leaning his face further into her space. "Understand?"
Hermione's eyes widen for a moment before she squints at him, her upper lip raised in a challenge, she leans her head as forward as she can in her position. "Or else…what, Malfoy?"
She feels the rise and fall of his chest quicken with his gaze on her lips again. Hermione knocks her forehead straight into Malfoy's with a resounding crack, sending him backwards with a sharp shout. She nurses her own head for a moment dazedly. Hermione hurries and gets back on her feet before Malfoy gets a chance to recover, her wand pointed steadily in between his eyes.
"I'm not playing around, Malfoy."
"I do what I want, Granger." He stands and moves her wand tip right up against his bloodied forehead. "There's nothing you can threaten me with."
The chills shooting down her spine at the icy, hard look piercing into her makes her wand hand falter.
"What's happened to you?"
Malfoy leers at her with a stony gaze. All at once, Hermione realizes he is no longer the same childhood bully she and her friends grew up with, somehow, he had grown up past them in age. Despite all they had been through, he had surpassed them. The ragged look on his face, the sturdy stature of his body as he looms over her – his eyes no longer looking their bright, mischievous grey, but rather like dull and stormy clouds.
This version of Draco Malfoy before her, Hermione firmly believed, could very well be a Death Eater.
He shoves past her violently, causing her to lose balance and stumble, startled. With a firm Accio he possesses his wand once more. Hermione watches the back of his pale blond head, now tinted with specks of blood and dirt. Her mind whizzes and whirls.
He doesn't look back.