Night 24
It was an unusually nice day, and the peaking sun had just managed to bring some warmth on the faces it touched. It's what drew most of the students outside between classes; sitting on the grass, by the lake, walking and laughing together.
But Hermione had been drawn out for one reason and one reason only. She was like a hawk, searching the crowd for her prey, and once she spotted him, she couldn't stop herself from marching determinedly over.
He was walking by himself; always by himself now, and slowly- too slowly. In a matter of seconds she was upon him.
Hermione grabbed his arm, and Draco turned rigidly towards her, his eyes glancing down at her hand with a horrified, nervous glint. She could imagine exactly what he was thinking: why was she touching him? Someone would see, assume.
She didn't care. She dropped her hand but glared at him, making it clear she wouldn't leave.
"I need it back, Malfoy, I'm serious."
He blinked. He was still angled away from her, one shoulder pointed towards her, the other facing as far away as possible, leaning, as if he could get a head start on escaping her.
"Lost it" He said, bluntly.
She stared at him. He was so pale, he could have been translucent, save the dark purple rings under his eyes. Somehow the sunlight made it worse, and she felt a passing gratitude for the times she'd seen him in darkness.
Then she glanced around her, and it was her turn to be self conscious, to worry that someone was spying on them. When she saw no one was staring, she took a step closer to him, whispered:
"Please. It was my father's."
Malfoy looked at her for a thick moment, his grey eyes, underscored by splotchy, sickly violet, giving away nothing. Then he sniffed, turned his head to look at nothing, and said: "alright, I'll leave it in potions tomorrow."
Hermione closed her eyes in relief. "Thank you," she said. But by the time she opened her eyes again he was already walking away, shoulders hunched from the cold, steps quicker than they needed to be.
That night she studied, alone her room. There was no point in sleeping, not when all she could think about, if she stopped to think, was Malfoy hole up in his room with her father's sweater. One of the only things she had of him, in Draco Malfoy's possession. It was dumbfounding, infuriating, and even more so when the only person she could be furious at was herself.
But at least her homework for the next month would be done.
Night 25
Every class the next day was an obstacle to get to potions. Hermione realized she was being obsessive, she'd just accepted that was her personality long ago. And really, she didn't need to pay attention to every lesson, especially when she had so many long nights ahead of her she could use for catching up.
She flicked her quill all throughout charms, tapped her sides impatiently during history of magic, and finally, when all was done, practically ran to potions.
Sodding Draco Malfoy. It was possible, she thought, that he was a demon born from her inability to sleep. It made sense that his sole purpose was to taunt her.
When she stepped into potions, the first thing she did was scan the room to find him. Her eyes drifted over weary, tired faces, some happy as they spoke to friends and then- her heart leaped. He was there. And thank goodness for that, as she'd concocted a story in her head that perhaps he would have skipped this day's lesson, if just to hurt her.
She sat in her seat but didn't take her eyes off of him, her leg bouncing up and down nervously. And she could have sworn the bastard was hiding a smile.
When the lesson was finally over, minutes ticking by like sludge slipping down a hillside, she jumped up in her seat. It had been her plan to run up, assault him for it. But she remembered what he'd said earlier: I'll leave it in potions.
It would be better, she thought, if he just left it there on the table. Then she wouldn't have to talk to him, wouldn't have to worry about the other students spying on her and wondering why in the world she was talking to the school's biggest outcast, and enemy number one when it came to her friends.
She waited, impatiently, and couldn't help but watch him. He was going so slowly, and she knew it must have been intentional.
She frowned, bit her lip. She wanted to hex him, truly, but she would have to hold herself back. The professor, an ancient old woman who'd replaced Snape, had left already, and now the remaining few students were trickling out.
It was just them now. Slowly, out of his book bag, Malfoy pulled out the ratty old sweater that meant the world to her, and placed it on the table.
Hermione hopped up, strode over and snatched it away. Malfoy openly laughed in her face, and she shot him a fierce glare.
"You're a git," she said, beginning to march away.
Malfoy caught her by the robes, and she jolted, then turned swiftly toward him, her hand reflexively hovering over her wand.
He was staring down at her, eyes bright and intent.
"Why'd you give it to me, Granger?"
She swallowed, her hand relaxing at her side. "Well, you were crying, and I thought-"
He flinched, just slightly, and his eyes hardened. Malfoy dropped her robes and turned back to his book bag, latching it quickly, and then striding out of the room.
Hermione didn't care to stop him. Didn't care that he was embarrassed. She stared down at the soft, worn fabric, clutching it in her hands and smoothing over the frayed threads. She'd never part with it again.
Back in her dorm room, Hermione slumped down. She was exhausted, and she was feeling it so deeply that her bones ached. She should have at least tried to sleep last night. How long had it been since she'd genuinely gotten more than an hour of rest? She didn't want to puzzle it out. The answer would only be concerning.
It was near twilight, not yet dark. The color from out her window was a cold and murky blue that wouldn't soften to black for another hour or so. But what was time to her? Her body didn't care if it was light or dark, if she were walking or lying down. She'd chase sleep whenever she could, and it would run from her if even if it were dark as pitch outside, or grace her with a rare moment of rest even if the sun was bright and invading.
She pulled her father's sweater from out of her bag, and laid it over her pillow. She was too tired to go through the whole routine: hats, socks, wand, check, check, check. She just wanted to rest. She laid her head down on the sweater-covered pillow, and pulled the sheets over head to mimic the dark.
Then she froze. The sweater smelled sweet, and piney. Like the woods, plus something warm and musky, and entirely male. It smelled like Draco.
Her first thought was to be angry, because how dare he corrupt it anymore than he already had, but the smell was- nice.
It hadn't smelled like her father in a long time. She'd press her face to it every now and then, inhale, and hope that for just a second she'd get a reminder of what it was like to be held by him, to walk by him in the kitchen while he was making her breakfast, hugging her goodbye and holding too tight before she went off to school. But it had been months since she'd felt anything like that, months where it was only Hermione pressing back into her face.
Reluctantly, she sniffed it again, her face going red even in privacy. It didn't smell anything like her father that was for sure, but it was there again, that piney warmth, and maybe some kind of distant cologne, like Harry's or Ron's. As disturbing as it was, it was comforting. And if she could pretend for a moment that it wasn't Malfoy's, that it was one of the boy's, then, well it was almost like being held again.
She hadn't realize she was crying, and didn't bother to wipe the tears away. She just let them fall on the sweater, wet her cheek and muss her hair. She'd be embarrassed about this tomorrow. She'd wash it, and never think about it again. But for now she let her eyes close, and her body go slack under her heavy covers.
Night 26
When Hermione woke up, her head was buzzing in an unfamiliar way. She kicked off the covers, exposed her legs to the cool air of the room and sat up. There was sunlight, moving in on the top of her window.
She realized suddenly, with a strange sort of panic, that she'd actually slept. Not a full nights sleep, the sun was most definitely just rising, but hours of sleep, undisturbed sleep, where she hadn't even gotten up and walked around her room, where she'd stayed in bed without one dream to wake her.
Her mind whirled: what had she done differently?
She glanced down, at the old sweater that had left imprints in her cheek. Ears burning, she picked it up, went to throw it on the ground, warred with herself, and settled on throwing it to the end of the bed.
There was no way that was what made the difference. She wouldn't let herself consider it. She got up, planting her feet hastily on the ground and moving about her room to get dressed. There was a lightness in her body, and a thick fog in her head which felt completely foreign to her. But it was pleasant, like she was half full when she'd gotten used to being completely empty.
She eyed the sweater wearily as she pulled on her jeans, then quickly looked away. That was enough of that. In fact, she reasoned with herself, that was enough thinking about Draco Malfoy for a very long while.
She spent the extra hours before classes in the library, where she hunted around for books she hadn't read before, then sat in the chair she favored, mercifully empty, that was all the way near the back.
Then from her bag she pulled out cream colored stationary, and began to write out three letters. One to Ginny, one to Harry, and one to Ron.
She was slipping up on her correspondence to them. But in all fairness, she wasn't sure they noticed. At the very least they only responded about half the time, and with large pauses in between. She couldn't blame them, they'd jumped into being aurors so quickly after the war. She imagined them constantly, flying out on missions, exploring strange places, stopping in the middle of the field to quickly jot down a letter for her.
"Mione- got your note. Miss you too. Things are crazy out here, I can't wait to tell you about it. Hope classes are going well, must be weird to be in Hogwarts. Talk soon. Love-"
Harry, Ron, Ginny.
It didn't matter much who it came from. They all sounded practically the same. But that was ok. Hermione was just happy to hear from them, and through their brevity she imagined them continuing their wild adventures, dragons, merpeople, shady witches and wizards, the rare case of exploding chestnuts that had briefly plagued Yorkshire for a month before they'd figured out how to disenchant the trees, and wipe a good deal of memories.
It only hurt a bit that these adventures were happening without her. But Hermione didn't want to be an auror. She wanted to work in the ministry, which meant continuing her education. Alone.
Now all of it seemed far away, unlikely, and smothered by the troubles that were rattling around her mind. She began to scribble three letters on the parchment, feeling melancholy.
It was almost a joke when she saw him at the Owlery, slumped against the wall and staring out at nothing. She thought to laugh, but couldn't muster it. Not when the memory of her pressing her face into his scent flashed quickly through her mind.
Cheeks pink, she shuffled up to an owl, ignoring him as he glanced her way.
She attached her letters to the scaly outstretched leg, and the owl squawked at her. Glaring, she held out the treat in her hand and it nipped her defiantly as it took it. Hermione swore under her breath, muttering to the wretched thing as it took off.
From behind her she heard Malfoy chuckle, and she turned to glare at him, but was caught off guard. On the right side of his face, a dark purple bruise covered the expanse of his cheek, and as she stared longer, she noticed the center of his lip was split as well.
Now it was Malfoy who glared, shooting daggers at her before shrugging his jacket tighter around himself and stalking out. Hermione glanced at the sky. It was still early in the morning; early enough that she hadn't expected to see anyone else awake.
She tried not to think about it. But in the back of her head she knew, had known ever since the moment she saw him with tears streaked down his face and his eyes closed. Draco Malfoy was an insomniac.
Night 27
The next night was not as kind to her. She supposed she should have seen it coming; even one night of rest was too good to be true, two would have been a miracle.
Still, there was nothing fair about the nightmare she was having.
She was in Malfoy manner again, but instead of Bellatrix torturing her, she was downstairs with Harry and Ron, trying to find a way out.
They were looking and looking, and there was nothing. No crack of light, no hidden wand, nothing to help them escape. Hermione watched them, searching futilely, all the while feeling a sense of pressing dread, that something was coming for them, that they were running out of time.
And what was worse, she couldn't get up to help them. She didn't know why, not until she looked down and realized her ankle was chained to the wall.
(((
So she called out to them, tried to give them suggestions, but they couldn't hear her, or they weren't listening. She wanted to cry, why couldn't they just stop and listen? They were making it worse, wasting time by checking the cracks in the walls, fluttering around the cellar aimlessly.
Then she saw them mutter something between them, and Harry nodded, approached her.
Finally, she thought, we'll work this out together. But then Harry, whose face was dark with shadow, disturbed in a way she'd never seen, bent down and pulled from his sock the piece of broken mirror he kept on him at all times.
She cowered back, knowing somehow what was about to happen.
"I'm sorry Hermione," he said. "We have to get you out."
Hermione shook her head, "Harry don't! Just listen to me, we'll figure something out, we'll-"
"I'm sorry Hermione," he said again, shaking his head, and then through her pleading, pressed the glass against the skin of her ankle and began to saw, until she was screaming and screaming, and all she could see was blood and bone, Harry's head bobbing in time with his harsh motions, and the dark grimy cellar floor.
(((
When Hermione woke she was short of breath, propped up against the castle wall, with very real pain shooting through her ankle.
She looked down, and saw that it twisted unnaturally out of place. Panic swelled in her chest, and she reached to her pocket, fumbling for her wand that was most definitely not there.
Through her panic she glanced up, then froze. Malfoy was standing in front of her, his eyes wide with surprise.
Of course. Of bloody course.
For a second, suspicion clouded her mind, and she glanced between him and her ankle. He was panting, as if he'd just had a run. But then her suspicion was replaced by anger, as she watched his face transform and curl up into a sneer, and he spoke.
"What the hell Granger. I could hear you screaming from a mile away. Are you trying to wake the whole castle?"
Hermione glared at him.
"It's my ankle," she said under her breath, feeling upset and disoriented.
Malfoy glanced down at her. She could tell he felt just as uncomfortable as she did, and he shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets.
"So fix it" He said.
Hermione groaned. "Can't, I left my wand in my dorm."
"Fuck." Said Malfoy, unearthing a hand from his pocket and running a hand through his hair. "Well that was bloody stupid of you."
Hermione scowled at him.
"Thanks Malfoy, I'll make note of that for next time."
She used her arms to pull herself up, then got her feet under her and attempted to stand. With a little cry, she slumped back down on the ground, her hand shooting to her ankle, which throbbed angrily.
Malfoy scoffed in a mock laugh, then bent down to her level, wand clutched in his hand.
"What do you think you're doing?" She asked quickly, panic lacing her voice.
Malfoy glared up at her, "Oh don't act so proud. You're not the only one with problems." Then he pointed at his face. The deep purple bruise was still there, grown darker in the day that passed.
"How do you think I got this Granger?"
Hermione blinked. "I just assumed, I mean- you're not very popular Malfoy."
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah cheers. But I didn't get this from another student. I woke up with my face on the ground throbbing. I have no idea how it happened so I have to assume that I did it to myself."
Hermione sucked in a breath. She'd gotten as far as assuming that he was sleepwalking, like her. But to hear him admit it? It was strange.
Malfoy gingerly took hold of her ankle with cold fingers, pressed the tip of his wand to her skin, and muttered softly under his breath.
Hermione watched him, took account of his furrowed brow and the concentration on his face, his large canvas like jacket and the split in his bottom lip that wobbled as whispered the incantation.
When he was done he stood up, and Hermione rolled her ankle. It was perfect. She raised herself up slowly, and appraised him.
A moment of awkward silence passed between them, and Malfoy looked away. "Well you don't have to thank me."
"Thanks," she said, too quickly.
He shrugged, "let's just not talk about it." Then without another word, began to walk away.
Hermione glanced down at her ankle. It was actually impressive, how quickly and efficiently he'd been able to mend it. But she would never dare tell him that.
She glanced back up at his retreating figure, and maybe it was the fact that her heart was still pounding from her nightmare, or the relief she felt from her ankle being fixed, or even the scary thought it could all happen again, and that next time, maybe no one would find her. Maybe she'd have to crawl or hobble all the way back to her dorm and then everyone would really know how fucked up she was.
But she found herself jogging up to him, calling "Wait," grabbing his arm, and hearing herself speak out words that were more ludicrous than anything else she'd ever said in her life:
"Maybe- Maybe we could help each other."
