Hermione had been staring at the ceiling of her room for thirty minutes. She had gone to bed early the night before and now found herself awake at only five in the morning. A drawback to the recent changes she had made to her potion recipe.
The addition of passionflower made her sleep heavier, but did not adapt to her body's needs. Hermione slept exactly seven hours every night, whether her days were exhausting or not.
She didn't complain about it. She could sleep and that was the only thing that mattered to her.
However, for several days in a row, after waking up at the crack of dawn, Hermione had been witness to one of the most difficult and gloomy spectacles. One of those that you want to forget, one that shouldn't exist.
Lying in bed with the covers pulled up and her eyes wide open, Hermione had no choice but to listen to the awful screams of her housemate, her friend. Draco screamed to death every morning, struggling so hard that his bed banged against the walls of his room. His cries could be heard echoing throughout the whole house.
And every morning, Hermione would lie there, motionless in her bed, listening to Draco's screams until he finally woke up and started his day. Then silence would return to the huge house, as if it had finally been abandoned by the screams that haunted it.
She would not move, she would not do anything. She endured, taking in the pain she heard in his cries, watching him fall little by little as a mere spectator. Her heart broke a little more every morning as she heard his heart-rending moans, but she did nothing. She was incapable of doing anything.
What could she do? Who was she to act? Nobody. She was nobody. She couldn't get out of bed, couldn't do anything to help him. It was as if she was paralysed in her bed, as though some force was holding her there, preventing her from doing anything. Her mind imagined all sorts of scenarios and she always came to a decision too late. It was too difficult, and she had the feeling that doing anything would only make it worse.
What if he pushed her away? What if waking him up would only make him feel worse? What if... Too many factors came into play. She was afraid, afraid of ruining everything, afraid of doing something wrong.
Hermione went downstairs every morning to have breakfast as if she hadn't witnessed Draco's nightmares for dozens of minutes. She would go downstairs with a smile on her face, as if she didn't remember his screams, the howls of horror that would probably haunt her nights if she wasn't taking potions. She would go downstairs and start her day without ever mentioning anything. It was simple, so much simpler.
She wasn't stupid, she knew perfectly well why he had fallen so far. He'd stopped drinking his potions. He was sober, not as addicted as she was. He had succeeded where she had failed for years. And it was tearing her heart apart. How could he do such a thing? How had he found the strength and desire to do it? How could he not go back to his bloody bathroom to empty his flasks after nightmares like that? How could he face all that without cracking up?
She couldn't understand, and besides, she didn't really want to understand. Reality was too harsh and she didn't want to listen to reason. He did what he wanted, what he could. Good for him, she often thought angrily. She was as angry with him as she was admiring him.
So she would turn a blind eye. She tried to forget about all that shouting and crying. They were gone. She opened her bedroom window and concentrated on the chirping of the birds outside and the sound of the April thunderstorms shaking the region. It was good. It felt simple.
oOo
As the days passed, their daily routine remained the same, peaceful. Hermione left every morning with a full stomach and returned every evening to have dinner with Draco. He would tell her about his day, have her read his writings and then she would tell him about hers. Every day she would bring him a new book, often fairly short novels that he would read the next day and they would talk about in the evening.
It felt right.
Hermione ignored the dark circles under Draco's eyes, she ignored the paleness of his complexion and turned a blind eye when she realised that his recipes sometimes failed. It was so much simpler.
Sometimes, stayed at home with Draco. Hermione would feel strange those days, agitated by anxieties that she sometimes calmed with potions as a last resort. She hid behind convincing smiles when it was time to go home, so as not to cause concern, or to avoid reality. These smiles became sincere when she sat down to the dinners Draco was preparing. Or perhaps he was the reason for her smiles. She didn't really know.
It felt right.
Draco would tell her about his adventures around the house, about the vegetable garden and his ideas for improving it. Then Hermione would bring him gardening books and he would thank her with those smiles she thought of when she felt herself sinking in the meanders of her mind.
He had even started planting new seeds. She had gone with him once or twice, after he had encouraged her to start growing her own vegetables again. She had winced when she found two-centimetre carrots or potatoes that had sprouted too long. He had smiled in response and that was the only thing that mattered.
In the end, he suggested that they look after the vegetable garden together, that they share the task. She accepted immediately, telling herself that he was better than she was and that she would learn a lot from him. She didn't know if that was the real reason for the change.
She liked gardening with him. It was a simple thing. They often did it in the evenings, or during the weekend when she wasn't working. She hated having to hide her trembling hand behind her back when Draco looked up at her, but the smiles he gave her were enough to distract her.
He had suggested that she cut some of the plants with the sharp scissors in the tool box, but she had been unable to do it. She'd said she wanted to look after the flowers or plant the seeds. So he would cut, she would plant, and that would be fine.
She brought home books, she ate what he cooked, she did the washing, they gardened and that was good enough. It suited them. Draco didn't complain about this routine, not that he'd ever complained about anything.
She went to bed every night with the desire to do more the next day, then woke up to the screams of her housemate and a heaviness in her heart that she didn't think she could calm. So she resigned herself. She got up, ate, worked, ate, gardened, then slept.
And that was fine.
oOo
It wouldn't stop. It was as loud as ever, as heartbreaking as ever.
Hermione had been awake for ten minutes and was already leaning against her bedroom window, a cigarette between her lips, her head down and her eyelids closed. Maybe if she convinced herself that she couldn't hear anything, the screams would vanish.
The birds. She had to concentrate on listening to them if she didn't want to feel her heart break a little more in her chest.
Why was he still in such a state? He'd slept the night before! She had woken up at the same time in complete silence! What had happened? Why was it happening again?
She ran a hand over her face. She had to wait, just a little, it would eventually calm down. He would wake up and the day would continue. The weekend had arrived, she could busy herself outside and perhaps even suggest Draco to a walk around the edge of the forest. He'd asked for it himself the day before, after all; he wanted to visit the forest. Yes, that would be nice. She could spend hours outside getting all that shouting out of her head.
"No! No! Hermione! No, please!"
She sat up straight away, alert. What had he just said? She must have been dreaming, it wasn't possible.
"Hermione! Leave her alone!"
He had shouted her name. Every syllable of her name had echoed through the walls of her house. He had shouted her name. She could still hear it vibrating in her chest and in her heart. He had shouted her name.
Tears welled up in her eyes as her breathing quickened. The urge to join him and help him calm down was suddenly stronger. She struggled to stop it. She couldn't, she shouldn't.
Hermione tightened her fingers on the window frame to think of something else. She squeezed so hard it hurt. Pain was a good distraction.
"No! Hermione!"
Her heartbeat echoed through her entire body. Her head hurt. She dropped her cigarette. It was too much all at once.
She shouldn't go, she couldn't help him. It would be worse, he'd be angry with her. It was his privacy, it was his room and his life. She couldn't disturb that, she shouldn't. She had no right to. She was nobody, no one important.
She would ruin everything, he would be angry, he would shout at her that she had no right to do that, that she should have left him alone. That was what Harry had told her so often, what she had read at school. She shouldn't wake up someone who was having a nightmare, she shouldn't risk disturbing them even more. If the nightmare was tinged with magic, she could trigger an uncontrollable outburst. She knew that.
Harry had told her. Harry had told her so many times. He was right, he knew what it was. He had to stay asleep, he had to wake up on his own. She shouldn't. She had no right. She had–
"Not her! No! Leave her! Hermione!"
She let go of the window frame and ran towards the exit of her room. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks in panic and confusion. She couldn't just stand there and do nothing, it was beyond her control. This had gone on long enough.
The door to Draco's room opened by itself. Hermione paid no attention to the state of the room, nor to the fact that Wynn was squeaking in its nest.
She rushed to Draco's bedside without stopping to cry. She felt terrified. Hearing her name being shouted like that awakened sensations in her that she would have preferred never to experience again. She had to do something, her mind, her body and her heart were screaming at her.
Draco's face was contorted with terror, with the horror he was experiencing in his mind. His body jerked unevenly and his fists were clenched in the blankets. He was sweating so much that his white undershirt was transparent. His hair was a mess, falling back brown on his forehead and sticking to his skin from the sweat.
And most of all, he was whining as if he was being tortured in every way imaginable.
"Mum, mum, she... Hermione..."
His mutterings were unintelligible. He was toggling between screams and whispers, as his limbs strained and jerked in all directions. Hermione had never seen him like this. It made her nauseous.
"Draco?" she said once, not daring to do anything more.
He didn't react. He just kept shaking his head and begging the monster that was torturing him in his sleep. Hermione didn't want to imagine who it could be.
"Draco?" she repeated a little louder as she knelt down beside him to be at his level. "Draco, I'm here, it's me, Hermione."
Nothing. He was crying, his tears mingling with his sweat in the most heartbreaking sight.
She raised her hand to his face, but stopped just before touching his skin. What if she ruined everything?
Fear churned in her stomach. She was so scared of making him suffer even more, of losing him in some way.
She closed her eyes as he shouted her name for the umpteenth time. She was trembling slightly. She had to do something.
She placed her palm against his burning cheek and moved closer until their faces were only a few centimetres apart. With her left hand, she shook his arm, murmuring his name over and over again. She wanted to do things right, gently.
"Draco, it's me, it's Hermione," she repeated several times.
She caressed his cheek with her thumb, staring at his closed eyelids in hope that they would finally open. She ignored the anguish in her stomach, she was concentrating.
"Draco!" she shouted much louder after a few minutes of fruitless attempts.
This time she faced the tortured grey eyes she had imagined since her arrival. His gaze was so lost that she felt a weight drop to the bottom of her stomach. He was terrified, completely disturbed and distressed. He had sat up quickly, as if to get as far away as possible from whatever was frightening him.
She didn't stop stroking his cheek.
"Draco," she whispered softly. "It's me, it's Hermione. It's all right, I'm here."
Draco's breathing was too rapid, his eyes sweeping over his surroundings as if searching for an anchor in reality. Eventually he stared into Hermione's eyes, his chest shaking and tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Hermione," he breathed with a broken voice, made hoarse by his screams.
"I'm here," she merely replied.
That seemed to be enough for him. He closed his eyes and leaned against her, his body shaking as he sobbed. She immediately put her arms around his shoulders and held him close. It was the right thing to do, what she wanted to do, what he needed.
She began to rock him gently and ran a hand through his hair to calm him. He held her so tightly in return that she wondered if he was going to end up hurting her. But she didn't say anything, she just felt good against him. It relaxed her as much as him.
She closed her eyes after a while. She let him rest against her, his head pressed against her chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her hips. She wasn't very comfortable in this position, and her knees on the floor were a little painful, but she didn't want to break this moment for anything in the world.
Draco's breathing gradually slowed and soon only the sound of both of them breathing could be heard in the room.
Hermione then had an idea. She remembered what her father used to do to calm her nightmares when she came home from Hogwarts in the summer.
"What do you say we have a quick shower and then go for a walk outside?" she whispered in Draco's ear. "It's still early and it's not raining, we could enjoy the fresh air and even watch the sunrise?"
She heard him sniff softly, before he rose from her arms to face her. With the end of his left sleeve, he wiped away his remaining tears and locked his gaze with Hermione's.
"In the forest?" he asked in a whisper.
Hermione's heart clenched in her chest at such vulnerability. Although she was used to his gentleness, his calmness and his kindness, she rarely witnessed such weakness. She wanted to hold him in her arms again and never let him go. She wanted to repeat that he wasn't alone, to promise him that everything would be all right even though she had no certainty. She wanted to make that glint of fear in his eyes disappear.
But she just nodded and stood up, rubbing her aching knees as she went. Although Draco noticed her gesture, he made no comment and only his guilty look proved to Hermione that he felt sorry.
She didn't give him time for self-mortification and held out her hand to help him out of bed. He didn't hesitate and followed her to the bathroom, where she stopped with as reassuring a smile as possible.
"I'll be downstairs and I'll fix us something to eat on the way. If you need anything–"
"I'll know where to find you," he continued in her place, nodding.
Hermione's smile could only widen as she saw him already on the rise again. She let go of his hand, ready to leave, but he caught her by the wrist immediately. She opened her mouth in confusion, but he silenced her with a furtive kiss on the cheek.
"Thank you," he murmured before already moving away.
She didn't give him time, touched by his gesture. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him to her, then, on tiptoe, placed a kiss on his lips.
It was like a remedy for her anxiety, for the tension in her shoulders. Her body relaxed as Draco locked himself in the bathroom. Time stood still, and she hadn't even noticed Draco's reaction.
Hermione froze, facing the door, one hand raised to her lips, just where Draco's had been. Her heart was beating faster in her chest and, this time, she knew it wasn't due to stress. It felt good, it felt right.
About twenty minutes later, Hermione heard Draco coming down the stairs and left the kitchen to join him. She smiled when she saw that he had changed and was wearing a green shirt, the one she liked best, and black trousers. Despite the fact that he now borrowed Hermione's grandfather's clothes, she had never seen him wear anything other than smart shirts or jumpers. He still paid as much attention to his clothing style as he had in his Hogwarts days, and that always amused her.
"I made us some sandwiches with the ham I bought on Tuesday," she told him, opening the canvas bag she had prepared.
The four sandwiches were wrapped in paper towel, along with a flask of water and two apples. It reminded her of the kind of snacks her grandmother used to prepare when she took her grandchildren on morning walks.
"I thought this would come in useful if we decide. to stay out longer. Well, it's not perfect, I haven't even put cheese in it, just butter, and besides it won't taste as good as if you did–"
"Hermione," he cut her off.
She paused, her cheeks flushed, and looked up at him. He was smiling sweetly.
"It's perfect."
She stood still for a few seconds before swallowing and nodding several times.
"Yes, I– Yes, okay."
She put the canvas bag back on the dining table, then wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans. She'd changed too.
"I also got you some shoes that are better for walking with," she continued, bending down to pick them up off the floor. "I thought you'd be more comfortable in those than in Grandfather's dress shoes."
She handed them to him, biting the inside of her cheek, and he accepted them, thanking her softly. He had blushed, as if embarrassed by the attention, and Hermione wondered if she had gone too far.
However, she silenced the little voice in her head and went to get their two coats from the hall, while Draco changed his shoes.
Albert had joined them when they went out into the garden. The morning breeze buffeted the sides of their clothes, but it didn't seem to disturb them at all. Draco grabbed her hand and Hermione felt her heart speed up again. It felt right.
It was right.
He led her to the forest on his own, eager to go there for the first time, squeezing her hand at regular intervals as if to make sure she was there with him. She responded in kind.
Albert ran around them, barking happily to make the chattering birds fly away. It was peaceful.
For a moment, Hermione wondered if one day her life could be so pleasant, so sweet. If it could last forever. She caught herself hoping.
When they reached the edge of the wood, Draco stopped and stared anxiously at the trees in front of them. Hermione looked up at him, searching his face for any sign that he was ready to move on. She would wait as long as it took.
After several minutes, Draco lowered his shoulders and sighed. He closed his eyelids for a few seconds, as if a battle was going on in his mind. Perhaps it was.
Eventually, he turned to her and stared back.
His cheeks were rosy from the cold, or something else.
"I–"
He cleared his throat and looked down.
"Thank you," he breathed, rocking from one foot to the other. "For earlier and for– for everything. I'm sorry you had to witness that. I thought– I thought Pansy had left the soundproofing spells around my room, I–"
"Draco," she cut him off gently.
He immediately looked up at her again.
"It's nothing," she replied with as reassuring a smile as she could muster, as she squeezed his hand a little tighter in hers. "You– I–"
It was her turn to blush and look away. She felt very foolish, so intimidated.
"I care about you," she whispered so softly that she wondered if he had heard her. "I couldn't keep leaving you like that, I- I'm the one who should apologise for not coming before."
He shook his head, but she raised her hand to stop him cutting her off. She smiled softly as her gaze locked with his.
"I won't leave you like this again," she promised, squeezing his hand, again.
She gave him no choice but to nod, before pulling him by the hand towards the forest. His heart was beating hard in his chest, but it felt right. They could move on, now.