Breath Mints / Battle Scars

Chapter 9: IX

October 4th, 1998

Diary,

I'm not bottling anything up, and I don't appreciate the metaphor. Privacy is still a thing, yeah? Don't expect me to spill my guts out onto these ugly purple pages. It won't happen.

Let's consider this arrangement strictly need-to-know.

And there are certain things you don't need to know.

Prompt: What secrets are you keeping?

I'd say nice try, but it's not.

Draco

October 4th, 1998

She didn't return to Gryffindor for the rest of that Saturday, meandering aimlessly around the grounds instead and avoiding her Housemates at all costs. Avoiding him above all else. She'd skipped every meal, dodged every "hello" and only crept back into the dormitory when it was well after midnight.

But nothing could keep her mind from racing.

And now that it's Sunday, she knows she can't avoid what's doubtlessly waiting just outside her bed curtains.

At least the hangover is gone.

She sits up silently, sweeping the crooked curls out of her face and sneaking a compact mirror off of the nightstand. From what she can hear, none of the girls are awake yet, so she takes this chance to examine the evidence from the safety of her four-poster.

Tilting her neck this way and that, she tries not to grimace as she studies the bruises. The Glamour has long faded and the marks where his teeth and tongue and lips have been are all too obvious. All too easy to trace. She can almost remember which kiss left what.

It's absurd.

She snaps the mirror shut and drops her head to her knees for a moment, trying to organize sentences in her head. Excuses. Alibis. She's certain the age-old "I tripped" scheme won't work. And a part of her really doesn't want to lie to Ginny.

The other part knows she has to.

She sits there in silence for a few minutes more before resigning herself to an ugly fate. One of her greatest fears is being caught in a lie, and now she finds herself in a position where she has no other option.

No one in Gryffindor would support what she did. What they did. The bias is too strong. She can't tell them. Not Harry. Not Ginny. Especially not Ron.

A sudden, unwelcome image of a certain redhead storming off in a rage to find a certain blond floods into her brain, and she pinches the bridge of her nose to get rid of it.

No, the truth would cause too much pain - both emotionally and physically.

And with that decided, she throws back the curtains.

She was wrong. Not only is Ginny awake, but she's sitting bolt upright on the side of her adjacent bed, and the sight of Hermione has her getting to her feet.

"'Mione..." she starts, but Hermione holds up a hand, stopping her before she can say another word.

And out floods the practiced lie. The big lie. The one she won't be able to take back. "I don't know who it was. I was drunk and it was dark and now it's over."

It's done.

Ginny takes a moment to compute the words before she responds, but Hermione sees her face fall a bit in disappointment. She wonders what she'd been hoping for. A suitable person Hermione could use as a rebound from the War? A Zacharias Smith or a Michael Corner type?