The Shattered Dragon

Chapter 18: Dark Purple and Blood Red

She'd wanted to be stone faced and strong, to hide her heartbreak behind indignant rage, but feeling Moonstone's gentle touch had broken the dam and she collapsed in the older woman's arms, allowing a maternal touch that she'd not felt in nearly a decade. It was like fresh water and cool air and sunshine all in one, conjuring memories of falling asleep in her mother's lap, or the touch of her cool hand to her forehead when she ran a fever. The release of emotion, tension, just feeling the witch's warm arms and smelling the powdery, flowery fragrance of her perfume was the first time she'd felt clean in days.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you," she said, stroking Hermione's hair.

"It's fine. It's...not your fault." Her voice was hoarse and weak, even three days later, gravelly with disuse.

"Well of course it isn't," Moonstone said, her voice suddenly sharp and strong. "Nor is it any of yours. I know exactly whose fault it is and he's gotten a piece of my mind. Lucky I didn't call the Council," she said, clucking her tongue. "And even beyond that, the fact that he wouldn't heal you himself when he's perfectly capable..."

Hermione held up a hand and shook her head.

"He tried but I wouldn't let him near me," she said, standing up and retying her robe closed, headed back towards her bed. "And it isn't entirely his fault either. It's my fault for indulging him when he was drunk...for letting our...agreement get out of hand..."

She could hardly believe she was saying the words aloud. All her life she'd admonished women who refused to challenge their abusers, their attackers. All her life she'd refused to allow victims to shoulder blame for their suffering, and yet here she was, doing it herself. She remembered a crying, black eyed woman crying in her living room...you have no idea what you'd do until you're forced to do it.

Perhaps she didn't want to believe the truth. Perhaps she didn't want to say it out loud: that Draco had hurt her, had kept hurting her when she'd begged him to stop, that he'd let their little game of Domination spiral out of control but that he'd still made her come, still made her wet with his filthy language and rough treatment. Perhaps she didn't want to admit that what hurt her most was that she now had to stay away from him, that she was on her own in this prison, that she could no longer expect him to find her under the stars or in the library, that he would no longer leave dirty books outside her room, or send her notes with descriptions of the things he'd dreamt of doing to her. She didn't want to admit that it was over. She didn't want to admit that it shouldn't have started in the first place.

Once Moonstone was satisfied that she'd done all she could, she gave Hermione a powerful, pain potion laced with poppy and a kiss on the forehead. The tenderness brought tears to her eyes and she turned away to keep from sobbing.

"I know you're hurting, petal. And it feels like curling up and disappearing is the best course of action. But you can't hide away in here forever Hermione," she said, heading for the door. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that he's torturing himself for what he did. I know that isn't good enough...I know it doesn't fix what he did...but...he was certainly navigating new ground with you, sweetheart...he was bound to stumble."

"What do you mean by that?" Hermione asked. "New ground."

Moonstone looked at her as if the answer were as simple as 2 + 2 then shook her head and dropped her daily potions on the vanity.

"He cares very much for you," she said plainly.

"I thought he cared for all of the girls," Hermione said, feeling petty and childish. She wasn't supposed to care at all, particularly after what he'd done; and yet hearing the healer say it out loud had caused her heart to flutter.