"The atmosphere was heavy after the summer of my fourth year. My father had become unbearable. He wouldn't let my mother or me do anything and I wasn't allowed to leave the manor. I stopped seeing my friends and didn't hear from them much. They thought I resented them for some teenage nonsense and only Crabbe and Goyle paid any attention to me, out of pure interest. That's when I realised things were getting darker for the three of us. More difficult. I was no longer just the son of the 'great Lucius Malfoy', but more importantly the son of a Death Eater.
I'd seen my father's Mark before, of course—he never hid it in the manor—but I'd never been able to find out what it was. I'd heard about my father's fraudulent dealings, but they were just assumptions. I wasn't told anything. I saw the visitors' tattoos on their arms, but I couldn't make any sense out of them. My mother didn't have any, so I assumed they were for men. After all, some of my father's close friends wore them too. Maybe it was silly of me, but I was still young and my head was full of clichés. I knew it didn't bode well, but that was all.
Goyle and Crabbe came 'round a couple of times with their fathers during the summer, but I wasn't close to them, we had nothing to talk about. I tried to get them to tell me about their parents' activities, or even about that tattoo they all had on their arms, but they never wanted to tell me anything. They were too afraid of reprisals, they were forbidden to talk about it.
My parents waited until the day before I started fifth year to explain everything to me. I never knew if the strange tone in my father's voice was fear or authority. I was speechless for the rest of dinner that night. He spent two long hours explaining to me who Voldemort really was and how important it was for our family and the magical world to follow him.
I'd heard the name Voldemort before. Loads of times, in fact. I knew that the magical world feared him, that he started a war in my parents' time, and I knew that Harry Potter defeated him. But that was all. Whenever I'd thought of asking Mother, to whom I was closest, for more information, she'd always refused to answer. She had said I was too young, or that it wasn't relevant any more. I..."
Draco put down his pen and ran a hand over his face, sighing. It had been two hours since he had sat down at the library desk and he needed a break. The next passage he would write would not be as simple as the previous ones and he didn't feel ready to do it just yet.
He had vivid memories of his first days at Hogwarts after that. It felt like a heavy stone in his stomach as he imagined the horrors his father had participated in before he was even born. After that, he'd had the constant feeling of being stared at, as if everyone else knew.
He closed the notebook in which he was writing his story and grabbed the novel Hermione had brought him the day before. He sat down on the sofa in the room and immersed himself in his reading.
The book was a fairly recent romance, a story of friendship turning to love. A journalist, a proof-reader, all in all, a light romance that he knew he could read in a day.
It wasn't the first time Hermione had told him about this genre. She had even confided in him that it was what she preferred to read to relax. Of course, she was very fond of other types of literature, but romance was her guilty pleasure. She savoured it and used it as an escape from her long days.
Draco did not share the same taste for these books. He enjoyed them from time to time, of course, but he much preferred poetry as an escape from his everyday worries. He had his favourite collections, which he even kept in his room and sometimes reread before going to sleep.
Sleep. A week had passed since Hermione had pulled him out of his nightmare, since she had held him close to her heart until he calmed down. He was sleeping better, or at least, there was some improvement.
Hermione had kept her promise. He had found her at his bedside every time he woke up from his nightmares, four times since. She had been there for him, never missing an occasion. Sometimes she'd bring him a glass of water, stroke his hair, or just whisper that everything was fine.
Draco wasn't sure how he felt about that. He was grateful, of course, how could he not be when she was supporting him every morning through his nightmares? But that didn't stop him from feeling bad, in a way.
There had to be something wrong. It couldn't all be that simple, could it? They were friends, they shared things together, but he never thought it could go this far. What did it mean? And what was he supposed to do in return? Surely she was waiting for him to act, one way or another. He couldn't just take advantage of what she was doing to help him. Maybe he hadn't understood the signs, maybe he was supposed to do something, say something.
Draco shook his head to refocus on his reading. The ruminations of the characters in his book were rubbing off on him. Couldn't they just be normal friends? Without questioning anything?
An hour later, he turned the last page of the book and closed it, jumping to his feet to leave the library. He rushed straight to Hermione's room, a smile on his face.
"Hermione!" he exclaimed as he opened the door. "I knew it, but seriously, it was obvious that–"
"Aargh!"
Draco froze as soon as he heard her scream. He turned his eyes sharply towards her and saw Hermione standing by the bed, half naked, putting on a pair of jeans.
He turned abruptly and walked out of the room, one hand over his eyes.
"Merlin, I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, now just as panicked as she was.
His face was on fire, he was hot and his heart was pounding in his chest. What an idiot! Since when did he enter someone else's room without knocking? He was mortified. He couldn't believe what had just happened to him.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated as he slid against a wall to sit on the floor. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I'm sorry."
He felt so ashamed, so bad. He ran a hand over his face a few times as he tried to calm the pounding of his heart. He wanted to disappear into a hole, to go back in time, to do everything he could to make sure it never happened. He was a complete idiot, he had ruined everything.
He could see Hermione again, dressed only in knickers and a bra, putting on a pair of jeans. He couldn't get the images out of his mind. In the space of a few tenths of a second, he had seen her body, her curves. He had seen the beauty of every part of her, every inch of uncovered skin. His cheeks were still flushed.
But that wasn't all. He felt a warmth in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't identify. Maybe it was shame, it could only be shame. Right?
He had seen her legs, which she always hid under long jeans or dungarees, her wide hips, and even a glimpse of her breasts. He felt hot. He felt sick. She was going to hate him.
He couldn't get it out of his head. He was miserable, stupid. He was breaking their trust, he was ruining everything.
Eventually, Hermione came out of her room while he was inwardly calling himself lots of names. His head was spinning from berating himself and promising himself never to look her in the eye again. He stood up immediately and almost fell backwards, dizzy from standing so fast.
His resolutions were quickly gone.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said quickly in a panic. "I should have knocked, I'm sorry, I didn't think–I'm sorry, forgive me, I shouldn't have–"
"Draco," she interrupted him, blushing. "Draco."
"Hermione, I assure you that–I'm sorry, Merlin, I'm so–"
"Draco," she repeated more forcefully. "It's nothing."
She muttered in a low voice, sounding just as uncomfortable as he was. Chewing her lower lip, she didn't look him in the eye, choosing instead to stare at the collar of his shirt. Draco couldn't help but needlessly adjust it as he watched her do so.
He nodded several times, taking in what she had just said. It was nothing. It was nothing. It was nothing.
"What did you want to tell me?" she asked after an even more awkward silence.
Draco ran a hand through his hair and exhaled all the air he'd been holding in his lungs. He looked away in turn. He felt like such an idiot.
"Nothing special," he mumbled, unconsciously playing with his wedding ring. "I finished the book you brought me and–"
"So?" she cut him off immediately with wide eyes. "What did you think?"
He looked up at her and smiled at her impatience. The lump of shame in his throat disappeared. The radiance of joy he saw in her eyes erased everything. The mood was light again. It was just literature now, nothing could mar that. His heart was no longer beating with shame, but with happiness. It felt right.
"Not bad," he replied with a smirk. "A bit predictable, I knew from the start that the two characters would end up together."
She rolled her eyes and took the book out of his hands.
"Of course you knew! Everyone knows it from the start, but who cares? What matters is the telling of their story, not really the fact that it's obvious."
"I disagree," he counters, shaking his head. "If the end of a story is guessable from the first few lines, then there's no point!"
"It's a romance, Draco, readers know what they're getting into before they read it, that's why they read these kinds of books!"
He crossed his arms over his chest. They stared at each other with a defiant look in their eyes. He loved it. He could feel the excitement of a debate growing in his chest and there was nothing more pleasurable. He felt alive.
"Well, I don't think it makes any sense," he retorted with verve. "If a book has to reveal its ending in order to be enjoyed, then maybe it's not all that interesting!"
Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed in disbelief.
"Of course it is! It's not the ending that interests us, it's how the two protagonists get together! That's what makes you dream!"
"Does it make you dream?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise.
He saw her blush and look away.
"No, that's not what I said. Besides, don't change the subject!"
He laughed as she pushed past him towards the stairs.
"You didn't say it, but you thought it very loud, Granger!" he exclaimed behind her back.
She turned just before she disappeared around the corner and stuck her tongue out at him. Draco's heart was beating so hard in his chest that he was almost worried. He felt good, he felt at peace.
oOo
He'd seen her body. Her entire body. He'd seen her hips, her stomach, her back, her underwear... He'd even seen the marks on her skin.
Hermione couldn't sleep. She hadn't taken her potion. She was far too concentrated on replaying what she had experienced a few hours earlier. She had horrible memories of it. She had felt so vulnerable, so weak and... hideous. She'd had to force herself to walk back to him, to talk to him, to even look him in the eye.
She was reliving the memory like a nightmare. His gaze on her, on her body deformed by obsessions and damaged by poor health. He had seen everything and found her horrible. She had been so close to him that he had been able to see every detail, she was sure of it. She wasn't even shaved.
Lying across her bed, Hermione couldn't stop a few tears from flowing from her eyes. She hated herself. She couldn't stand herself, she couldn't look at herself in the mirror.
Why had he not laughed at her? He should have made fun of seeing her like this, of discovering what she hid under her clothes every day. He should have laughed at finding her in this position, so weak and vulnerable. He should have. She deserved it.
How could he bear her presence? How could he like her? And to think she had once dared to kiss him. She was inflicting her presence on him. He was probably disgusted by her now.
Her body was repulsive, she didn't deserve to be looked at. She told herself that every day. She'd gained so much weight recently that it was scarring her skin. Red marks had appeared on her hips, thighs, breasts and even the inside of her arms. A daily reminder of how badly she was treating herself.
She angrily wiped away her tears and sat up on her mattress, wrapping her arms around her legs. She rested her chin on her knees and rocked gently back and forth. She had to calm down, regain control. She was even more miserable this way. She pictured him finding her in that position. Pitiful. She felt like a fool. Draco's gaze on her was as if nailed in front of her eyes. She couldn't think of anything else.
Everything drew her back to it. She couldn't not think about him. When she looked at her bedroom, she saw him. When she closed her eyes, she saw him. He was everywhere. She slapped her forehead lightly on the top of her knees, as if that would be enough to get the memory out of her head. In vain.
She stood up and began pacing back and forth beside her bed. She wanted to switch off her brain, switch off her obsessive thoughts. She felt nauseous.
He had seen everything. Everything. He'd seen her body, her skin. He hated her. She hated herself. She didn't even deserve for him to look at her.
She placed her hands on either side of her head and grabbed her hair. It was happening again. It was just like the last time. She could already feel herself suffocating.
She was crazy. Insane. Her conscience was screaming at her to stop everything, to sleep, to stifle her ruminations. She couldn't let herself go, she had to fight it, to entertain her mind. She closed her eyes and took a long breath. She could get past this. She could calm down, think about something else. She could do it. She was capable of it. There was only one way.
She left her room in a hurry and made her way to the stairs. She couldn't stop the many images of Draco's gaze on her from entering her mind as she passed by his room.
He had seen everything. Everything.
She quickened her pace accordingly.
She ran down the stairs as if her life depended on it. She had to think of something else. She had to keep her mind busy, keep her hands busy.
She entered the kitchen and rushed to the fridge. She had to keep her mind busy, keep her hands busy. She had to distract her mind. She had to get him out of her head, forget about all of this.
She grabbed the leftover knafeh that Draco had prepared a few hours earlier. There were several slices left. Hermione swallowed them all.
Her stomach was full, already. She felt nauseous. But the demons on her shoulder were back. This time, the angels hadn't even shown up. She had to keep her mind busy, keep her hands busy.
She took a second plate out of the fridge, this time containing a coleslaw. She finished it in a few bites.
Again and again. And again.
She could see Draco's pale eyes on her again. His surprised, shocked look. She forced herself to swallow something else. And more.
Food was all over her. She ate with her fingers, her mouth overflowing. It was too much.
He had seen her skin. Her body. Her underwear. Her curves. Her hips. All of it.
She dropped the glass dish she was holding when a sudden nausea seized her. Splinters littered the floor, but she rushed to the kitchen bay window. She opened it wide just in time and collapsed, her throat on fire and her stomach aching.
She thought no more of him.
Until two hands wrapped around her hair and pulled it away from her face. Until icy fingers touched the back of her neck. She closed her eyes as the last drops of bile escaped from her mouth. She couldn't take it any more. Her body was exhausted.
"I'm here," he whispered, stroking her back. "It's all right."
It wasn't all right, but she comforted herself with the idea. It was simpler.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she sat up. She wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve, her hand trembling. She felt ill, weak. She could barely stand.
He put an arm around her hips and she clung to him as if her life depended on it. Perhaps it did. She felt on the verge of collapse. Her head hurt, her throat hurt, her stomach hurt. She felt feverish.
She thought that, ironically, it hadn't even worked. She was still thinking about him. And there he was, right next to her.
"Let's go to the bathroom," he whispered.
She didn't have the strength to say no. She let herself be guided, barely aware of the steps she was taking. Albert was barking beside her, but she didn't respond. She concentrated on the arm around her hip, on the body she was touching. It felt right.
No one had ever been there for her at a time like this. She was no longer alone. She was finally letting herself go, no longer in control. It felt right.
He switched on the light in the bathroom and Hermione immediately closed her eyes. She had a headache.
"Are you–"
She heard him clear his throat, hesitating.
"I think you should have a shower," he whispered, without letting go of her. "You're burning up, you need to get your fever down."
She nodded, or at least she tried to. She'd gone too far. She could no longer feel her surroundings. She was floating.
"Can I help you take off your clothes? I'll leave you in your underwear," he added immediately. "I don't want to leave you alone."
She was still holding on to him. She was clutching his forearm as if she might fall if she let go. She ached all over.
He was going to see her naked again. It was ironic. She would have laughed if she'd been able to. He was going to see her body. Again.
"I promise I won't look," he breathed. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I–You're not well, I'm–I'm scared for you."
He was afraid for her. She could hardly believe it. The whole situation was unreal. It must have been a dream. A dream where he wasn't running away from her appearance. A dream where he was so interested in her that he was worried.
She shook her head. She didn't have the strength to refuse anything. She had gone too far. It was just a dream anyway.
He sat her down on the edge of the bath and helped her to remove her clothes one by one. He pulled at the sleeves of her cardigan and gently removed it. All she had left was a simple short-sleeved T-shirt. She felt like she was floating again. She was dreaming.
He then took off her pyjama shorts and she found herself in her panties. She was hot. She ached all over. But it was a dream.
"I'm going to help you lie down in the bath," he then announced.
She didn't know if she nodded.
He pulled her arms just enough to help her stand up, then accompanied her into the bath. She was shivering, hot or cold, she didn't know. It was a dream. Just a dream.
The cold water hit her skin and Hermione shivered. It was freezing.
"I'm sorry, it's almost over," she heard.
She could feel herself falling asleep. He put his hand on her forehead and she snuggled against it.
"Don't leave me," she whispered before falling asleep.
It was a dream. A lovely dream.
oOo
Hermione was awoken by movement around her. Movement on her, in fact.
She fluttered her eyelids and fell straight onto Draco's chest. Her eyes widened. What was going on? Where had she been? She could hardly remember what had happened, could hardly understand.
Draco seemed to realise that she was awake because he stopped and looked down at her. His eyes were filled with fear and hesitation. He stared at her, waiting for her reaction.
Should she say something? He was carrying her against him, lifting her in his arms. She wondered how this was possible. She was far too heavy for him. She felt her throat tighten at the thought.
He was carrying her in his arms, taking her somewhere. She should have been afraid, she should have feared that he would do something to her. But she wasn't. She was confident. She wasn't afraid. She stared back at him calmly. She felt good.
She felt good against him. His skin was warm, even through his clothes. The skin of his arms was soft under her thighs.
She saw him open his mouth slightly, ready to speak, but she stopped him. She smiled and dropped her head to his chest. She didn't have the strength to speak, she was still exhausted.
Draco stood still for a few seconds, before realising that she would say nothing more. He resumed his walk and Hermione closed her eyes. She trusted him.
A minute later, she felt him lay her on the bed and immediately recognised the smell of her sheets. It felt so good. She could no longer think about her aching stomach and throat. He gently tucked her under the covers, and she even felt him put his lips to her forehead. She shivered.
When she heard him move away, she tensed and immediately opened her eyes again.
"Draco?" she whispered in the darkness of her room.
He stopped and turned towards her. She couldn't see his eyes or the expression on his face.
"Stay," she merely said.
He didn't hesitate for a second, unlike the last time. He lay down beside her and, this time, Hermione turned to face him. She hesitated a little, before eventually snuggling up to him, her head resting on his chest.
"Do you mind?" she whispered into the silence of the room.
"No," he replied, putting an arm around her.
"Thank you," she breathed, closing her eyes. "For everything."