Ginny was shaking uncontrollably. Her chest was compressed, her muscles tense and tears were streaming down her cheeks. She felt bad, terribly bad. It seemed like her limbs were melting down her body, like she was decomposing from the inside out. She was hot but cold at the same time.
She stood up, not knowing how long her legs would support her.
"Excuse me– I– I need to go out," she said before running out of the living room.
She could think of nothing but Astoria, her face and her voice. Her betrayal. Yes, she felt betrayed, stupid. How could she have gone through all this without seeing it? How could she have believed that everything was perfect?
She felt sick. Her head was spinning.
She dragged herself outside. She needed some fresh air, a big breath of cool air. Rain or shine, she didn't care. She was suffocating.
How could she have lied to her like that? Hide something so big, so serious? She was in pain, so much pain.
She had deluded herself, she had been blinded.
She hated her. She hated her with all her heart, with all her soul. Every hope, every feeling she had for Astoria had vanished the second Harry mentioned Daphne.
Daphne. She couldn't believe it. Astoria had spoken ill of her sister so many times, arguing that she deserved what she was going through in Britain, that she was overplaying her condition. She had led Ginny to believe that her sister was the devil incarnate, that she was worthless. And she had stupidly believed her, supported her.
She sobbed uncontrollably. She was in shock. Stunned. In a trance.
Someone laid a hand on her shoulder and she jerked around. She met Theo's calm, composed gaze.
"Shall we go for a walk?" he suggested, handing her a handkerchief.
She stared at him for several long seconds, not able to accept what was happening. She felt out of time itself, out of her reality.
"I... What about Rachel? She... I should..."
"Don't worry, Harry's dealing with her. Let's take a walk."
This time he held out his right hand and she couldn't refuse. She stood up, her legs shaking, and wiped her nose and cheeks with the handkerchief. He put his arm under hers and helped her walk to the garden.
After a few minutes of silence, she let go of his arm and walked on her own. Her sobs subsided, while her anger rose.
"I never loved her," she said harshly. "I adored her. I deified her."
Theo remained silent. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked beside her without a word. She needed to talk, she wanted to shout and scream about how much she hated her.
"I swallowed everything she said without even thinking about it. She was always right, telling me what to do, what to wear, what to say. And I didn't even realise it. I was terrified all the time, worried that she'd leave me, that she'd blame me for the slightest thing I did. It was like that every day.I was always on my guard, making sure she was happy and proud of me."
She sniffed angrily. She was enraged.
"I hate her," she laughed coldly. "She ruined my life for two years, and I didn't even see it. She perverted me, she infiltrated into every single thing I did to control it. Yeah, she controlled me."
She shook her head. She wanted to laugh about it, to burst out laughing because it all seemed so crazy. How could she have believed all that? She felt pitiful, pathetic.
"She talked badly about our families for two years, urging me to stay away from them, not to reply to them. She told me that it was better this way, that they deserved my silence and that I deserved a little respite. That somehow I had earned peace."
She stopped at the edge of a fence overlooking the Isle. Down below, families were playing by the river, children, teenagers, parents. They seemed happy. She envied them.
Theo stopped beside her and took out his packet of cigarettes. She grabbed one before he had time to put it away. He looked at her, but didn't say a word, just lit their two cigarettes. No matter how good her resolutions were, they seemed derisory compared to what was going on.
He stared wistfully at the families. Yet his gaze was hard, as if determined. It was a strange combination. He smoked almost angrily, wanting to finish his tobacco as quickly as possible, perhaps to destroy himself a little.
Ginny looked down at the river again, at the children running and playing by the water.
"Once I had the bad idea to mention children to her," she laughed, as more tears began to roll down her cheeks. "I told her I wanted a big family, like my parents. I told her we could adopt, or maybe find a donor."
She remembered that day like it was yesterday. She was still sick to her stomach with anxiety.
"She spent an hour making me feel guilty," she continued in a low voice. "She listed all the reasons why she thought having children was a bad idea. Then she went on to ask me if I really wanted to end up like my mother."
Ginny let out a loud sob that shook her shoulders and prevented her from continuing. She covered her face with her hands, her cigarette at her fingertips. She was exhausted. Everything had gone so well so far, everything was so perfect, so sweet, so peaceful. How could she have been so blinded?
Theo conjured up a new handkerchief and handed it to her. He remained silent, as if afraid of disturbing this suspended moment. Ginny knew she wouldn't have been able to say all that if she'd been interrupted. He remained silent and that was fine. She was grateful for that, although unable to tell him. She felt ashamed to show herself to him like that, but she didn't want to think about it. There was just too much on her mind.
Eventually, he spoke, after a heavy silence during which Ginny repeated to herself all the horrible things Astoria had once said to her. All those words and gestures that she had ended up trivialising. Out of fear, out of terror.
"You've got every right to be angry," he told her before exhaling a puff of smoke. "I'd be worried if you weren't. In fact, I've been waiting for the day when you finally would be."
"You knew, didn't you?" she asked, nodding slowly. "You knew it hadn't been wholesome?"
"Yes, we all knew."
A solitary tear rolled down Ginny's cheek. She wiped it away, still ashamed of this weakness.
"But trying to make you understand would have been futile, Ginny."
He rarely said her name. He only did it in their little conversations, when they talked about the state of the world and exchanged their different points of view. He was calm, almost like a different man in those moments.
"You had to understand that for yourself, to open your eyes to what she had done to you."
She nodded. It made sense, she knew he was right. It was just hard to admit, hard to accept. Everyone around her had pitied her, had watched her go home and rebuild her life, knowing that she wasn't cured, that she wasn't out of that relationship.
Her chest ached.
"One day you'll make peace with all that. I know it's hard to believe, but you'll end up not even resenting her."
"How do you know?"
He didn't answer, just shrugged and took a drag on his cigarette.
She lowered her head towards the Isle and wiped away the last of her tears.
Below, the children were happily playing and yelling.
oOo
The sun was slowly setting on the horizon, but the sky was too overcast to show any colour. It hadn't rained that day, but it hadn't been the best weather for going out.
That alone had made Hermione grumpy, and she had spent the day locked up in her bookshop reading romances with sad endings that broke her heart. She dragged herself home and only a moment in Draco's arms had been enough to take her mind off things.
They had eaten dinner in almost perfect silence and tidied up the kitchen, discussing the day's reading in hushed tones. Hermione had felt at peace since then. She was relaxed and calm.
After the meal, she sat down in the garden, on the tree trunk on the ground, to smoke a cigarette. She had noticed her own consumption had diminished for some time. She occasionally smoked with Draco in the evening, before going to bed, or during the day on her breaks at the bookshop, but otherwise she didn't smoke as much as she used to. Her daily pack was now limited to two or three cigarettes a day.
Albert was lying next to her, his head resting on the tips of her feet. He had been running around the garden for a long time after dinner and looked exhausted from all the effort. Hermione wanted to lie down beside him and snuggle up.
She'd been wanting to do that a lot lately. Draco, Albert, or sometimes even with the silly heroes in her books. She wanted to be hugged, to snuggle up to another body and be comforted.
She took a drag on her cigarette and watched the smoke drift away from her as she exhaled. You couldn't even see the moon because of the clouds. Hermione didn't like these kinds of nights where she felt like she was alone, that the world was lifeless and sad. It wasn't raining, there was no storm. It was grey and depressing.
She heard footsteps behind her and turned towards Draco. He was wearing her favourite jumper, the one with the blue and white details that made his eyes stand out so much.
Draco sat down beside her and pulled the packet of cigarettes from one of Hermione's jeans' back pockets. He lit it with the lighter inside and took a long drag.
Hermione remembered the first time he had smoked again. He had let out a little sigh of satisfaction that had made her laugh for several minutes. According to him, he had waited as long as possible before resuming, but had finally given in watching her smoke. He had silenced her with a look before she could apologise.
He didn't smoke much, only in the evening before going to bed. He said it relaxed him, that sometimes it quieted his mind. Hermione had often wondered if that was true, or if he didn't smoke simply because he wanted to be with her.
He reminded her of Ron at times like this. She remembered that he had been the only one to smoke just one cigarette a day during the Horcrux hunt. It had been Harry who had introduced them. Hermione had been reluctant, arguing that it was the worst possible thing for teeth, that it would destroy them from the inside. They had not been receptive to her arguments, and she had come to understand that those cigarettes were nothing compared to what they were going through. She'd ended up giving in to temptation. They weren't wrong. There were worse things. She was probably the one who smoked the most now.
She wondered if Harry had managed to quit, as he had often desired. She remembered those evenings when he promised to throw away all his packets the day Theo was free.
Draco spoke before she had time to let her mind wander to his best friend. She didn't want to think about him, didn't want to think about how much she missed him. She had to stay angry with him, that was better, much better.
"Do you think you could get me some books on psychology?" he said, after tapping his cigarette against the ashtray.
"On psychology?" she repeated, raising her eyebrows.
"Yes, well, I– Never mind, it's not important."
She was surprised that he took offence so easily. She hadn't meant to be hurtful, on the contrary! She was simply surprised that he was interested in this. As someone who never asked for anything, it wasn't something casual.
"Excuse me," she said immediately, placing her hand on his arm. "I didn't mean to offend you, I'm just surprised, I promise you. I'll bring you back all the books you want, Draco."
His cheeks pinkened slightly in embarrassment and Hermione felt even worse. Guilt turned her stomach.
"I'm sorry," she continued. "Make me a list of subjects that interest you and I'll bring you back anything I find, Draco, I promise."
He turned his eyes toward her, a shy, grateful smile on his lips. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.
"Thank you," he said simply as she snuggled against him.
She hated the idea of offending him. He was frowning very slightly, as if he were still unsettled by this conversation. She was so angry. How could things have gone wrong so quickly? She was supposed to know he would have reacted like that.
She stubbed out her cigarette and put her arms around his stomach until their bodies were pressed together. She almost sighed with relief when he ran a hand under her hair to stroke the nape of her neck.
"My hair's too long," she murmured.
"Mine too," he replied with a chuckle.
She looked up and met his defiant gaze. She bit her lower lip as a wide smile stretched across her mouth. Were they thinking the same thing?
"I've got some hairdressing scissors in my room," she breathed.
"Would you cut my hair for me?" he asked, stepping back slightly.
She shivered at the loss of his touch. She missed his warm skin. It was getting cold outside.
"Only if you cut mine," she replied.
"Deal," he smiled mischievously.
If she didn't trust him, Hermione would have been afraid of the look he was giving her, the look that gave the impression that he was going to deliberately miss his cut. But she trusted him, completely trusted him. Perhaps even too much sometimes. He was the only one she would trust with her life. He knew who she was, he knew how to take care of her. And he did.
He was the only one who would collect her cups of cold tea, prepare her favourite dishes, or advise her to hydrate when she spent the day reading non-stop. He was the only one with whom she could discuss their mutual reading for hours, or with whom she could garden without feeling judged about her shaky hands or the fact that she had lost her botanical skills over time. He was the only one who kissed her, who massaged her shoulders at the end of the day, who she wanted to hug until she fell asleep.
He was the only one to whom she would entrust her hair, which she cherished so much but had become a blemish over the years. She sometimes wondered what had kept her from shaving it off, after all the times she'd torn it out. She still had bitter memories of her last panic attack, when she went bald in places. Draco had arrived in time. She'd had a headache for days after that.
She didn't realise he was standing in front of her until he called her name softly. She blinked several times before looking up at him.
"Where did you go?" he asked with a soft smile, holding out a hand.
She caught it and hugged him immediately. He let out a little hiccup of surprise but didn't wait a single second before putting his arms around her.
"Thank you for being here," she said with tears in her eyes.
She was feeling emotional that evening. She wanted to tell him everything she was feeling, to share all the powerful emotions that were making her chest pound.
"I don't plan to leave," he whispered in her ear.
They stayed like that, under the cloudy sky, for a while. Sometimes Hermione whispered thanks to him, to which he responded with kisses or caresses. She felt right in his arms, protected, almost loved. Loved. It seemed so simple when he was there.
Hermione had never been afraid to love others. She had never been afraid to feel so much for someone, whether it was her friends, or her family. She was at peace with her love for others. She loved to love. She adored it.
But there was a big difference between loving and being loved. A difference that Hermione feared, that she had known all her life. She had always convinced herself that loving was far more important than being loved. She had grown up with this philosophy: to give to others, to give everything you had. And she thought she had succeeded.
But she had forgotten how to love a few years ago, forgotten her desire, her need to give without receiving, to offer others all the love she had accumulated for them. Since arriving in France, she had closed herself off from the very thing that had enabled her to survive for so many years. What would she be without love?
Being loved didn't matter, but loving Draco, loving what he meant to her and loving to give him everything she could? She missed that. She wanted that. And she would do anything for it.
They walked up to her room together and Draco entered for the first time as a guest. He had come dozens of times, woken up by her fits and screams of pain. Hermione felt ashamed of this, blushing as she made her way to the cupboard where the scissors were kept.
He remained in the centre of the room, his eyes busy observing everything around him. He was discovering the whole room for the first time. He had never set foot in here with any other idea in mind than to rescue her. She blamed herself for that.
Maybe he didn't feel comfortable here? What if he was panicking? What if he didn't feel safe discovering a new room in the house after months of living here?
She turned to him to check, just before she reached the cupboard. Just to check. She wanted to be sure, she wanted to protect him.
He was smiling. The idiot was smiling. He was far from panicking, he was smiling as he observed the only room that belonged to her alone. Her cocoon, her personal space. The place where he had already slept a dozen times but always left at dawn so as not to risk bothering her.
He smiled as if everything was right. Maybe it was.
It was so easy to love him, suddenly. Easier and easier.
"This was my grandparents' room," she told him, as she finally got the scissors out of the cupboard.
She joined him and sat down on the bed to look at him. He turned his eyes towards her, silent, waiting to hear the rest of her story.
"I could have slept in the old children's room, the one closest to yours, but I wanted something bigger. And I was sure the bathroom still worked when I moved in," she added with a chuckle.
Draco then turned his head toward the bathroom part of the large room and frowned.
"Does it not?" he asked as he approached.
"The water was turned off when my grandparents died and I've never been able to get it to run again," she told him as she joined him. "I thought it was a matter of a tap on the pipe, but it seems to be more complex than that."
He nodded slowly as his eyes followed the route of the pipes that ran from the bath, the washbasin and the toilet. He approached the small red tap that protruded from the main water supply and turned it to the right.
"I've already tried everything," she sighed as she watched him do it. "I don't know anything about it and even magic couldn't help."
He straightened up and turned towards her, his gaze thoughtful. After a few seconds, he became more uncertain, almost shy.
"Do you want me to check? Not now!" he said immediately, stammering a bit. "I mean, I could try and work out what's wrong. I read some tips in one of your grandfather's books, I might be able to find some information on plumbing."
"Would you do that?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
The worry lines disappeared around Draco's eyes. He smiled.
"For you? Of course I would."
She smiled with all her teeth and reached up to kiss him. He kissed her back shyly, as always. Yet Hermione never got tired of it. She often wondered if she was the first woman he had ever kissed in his life, if that was why he always seemed so hesitant, almost afraid of what he might do.
"Well, do you want to go first or shall I?" she asked after stepping aside, now excited to play hairdresser.
"I don't mind if you take care of me first, that way I'll have some sort of example."
While he noticed the flush in her cheeks at these words, Draco said nothing after she nodded and simply sat down on the small stool in the room. Hermione put a towel over his shoulders and smiled at him through the mirror in front of which they were seated.
"So, what can I do for you today, Mr. Granger?"
She saw him smile broadly at these words and felt her stomach lurch. She loved calling him that. She made sure she did it every chance she got, knowing how much they both enjoyed it.
Did it mean anything about them? Maybe it did. But it felt right. It felt so right.
"I just want them shorter," Draco replied, running a hand through his blond locks. "Not too short either, I like them to curl a little, but with summer coming, I don't want them to be too long and heavy on my head."
"Very well," she replied in the same professional tone she'd used as a joke.
She started by wetting his hair, before cutting the first strands. It wasn't the first time she'd done this, Harry, Ron and even Luna had already been subjected to her wobbly scissors several times. She didn't pretend to be good at it, but she always managed to avoid disaster. At least not too much.
So she applied herself all the more knowing that it was Draco. She even stuck her tongue between her lips, as if that would ensure a successful haircut.
After twenty minutes or so of asking him if it wasn't too short every time she cut a strand, Hermione stood up and gave the bottom of Draco's hair a final stroke with the scissors.
"I think we're good," she said, giving him an apprehensive look.
He turned his head from side to side to look at himself in the mirror as the stress rose in Hermione's chest. What if he didn't like it? What if she'd actually cut it too short? Her toes twitched in her coloured socks as he continued to examine himself.
After what seemed like an eternity, he finally turned to her, a big smile on his face.
"It's perfect," he said, running a hand through his hair. "It's exactly what I wanted."
"Really?" she asked stupidly as she approached him.
"Really," he said, laughing softly. "Thank you, Hermione."
She smiled back and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
"Your turn now," he said, retrieving the scissors from her hands. "What can I do for you, Mrs. Granger?"
She sat down on the stool and he placed the towel over her shoulders. He left his hands there as they looked at each other through the mirror. She bit her lower lip, unsure of what she was going to say. She wanted to cut it shorter, just a bit. Just a bit shorter. Just a bit.
"Cut it all off," she eventually said, her gaze firm.
She saw him widen his eyes, his mouth ajar.
"Are you serious?" he asked.
"Very serious. Cut as much as you can, at least as short as you."
His eyebrows were so raised that she wondered if it wasn't painful. But she was resolute. Her heart was pounding at this spur-of-the-moment decision, but she had no desire to back down.
Draco swallowed and nodded.
"As short as me, then," he said, seemingly overwhelmed by her request.
When he cut the first lock, Hermione felt a weight lift from her shoulders. It felt right. It was new, but it felt right.