Scars That Heal (Dramione Fanfiction) [COMPLETE]

11 - Hogsmeade

After some lunch and more Butterbeer, they all went shopping. Ginny went to Zonko's, and Hermione couldn't help but notice that the Shrieking Shack had black drapes around the windows. They bought sweets from Honeydukes, and the girls restocked on ink in a new branch of Flourish and Blotts that had taken over from an old shop. Harry and Ginny went off on a walk after a bit, and Hermione was left alone with Ron.

"What's it really like at the moment, Ron?" Hermione asked, resting her head on his shoulder as they sat on a bench near the woods. He sighed, and looked away.

"Bloody difficult, really," he said, "They've got tabs on all possible Death Eaters links, and are tracking the movement on the ones they're still unsure on. There are informants constantly at the Malfoy's, I can tell you that. But we've got theories to learn, more training to undergo, and mental examinations too. They want to check us for trauma, Hermione! They want to make sure our young minds have gone untainted from that war we were fighting! Dunno what they expect to find, really. We've all got our scars. It's hard." He rubbed his hand through his hair, spiking the fringe comically.

"I suppose they think it was easy, last year. Nobody quite knows how tough it was. I was terrified. I didn't want to lose anyone. When we were hanging onto that last Horcrux, and it was telling me to kill people, telling me not to trust those I loved... 'Course, he got us all somehow. We all got hurt last year."

Hermione didn't really know what to say. She understood and related to every word Ron had said, but what could she possibly reply with? So she just leant against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. Hermione had forgotten what it was like to have someone care for you like this. They sat there in silence, holding each other, until Harry and Ginny returned.

***

Supper was a very conflicted affair that night. Ginny's spirits were greatly lifted. She was clearly still struggling against herself, but was making a real effort to be cheery; she chatted almost to herself as they ate their pasta bake, and Hermione tried to respond but her mood dragged her down. Hermione was feeling a strong sense of isolation. Her bonds to everyone had been destroyed over the past year. Even Harry' and Ron's lives seemed disjointed from hers now; she was still in school, fretting over silly nightmares while they prepared to hunt down the remaining Death Eaters. Her own choices seemed so weak in that moment that it was all she could do to not run out of the castle and join the Ministry.

And yet Ginny was still burbling away about how wonderful it was to get out and do something.

Hermione excused herself as politely as she could and went to the Tower. It was the only place she ever felt truly calm. She curled up in a ball, and felt everything in her body. She listened to her heart throb against her chest; she felt every hair on her head twitch as she moved; she felt the muscles in her thighs tense; she felt her throat constrict and her nose sting as she started to cry. She heard the thoughts in her head compete, until her own brain was nothing but white noise against her body. Hermione focused on everything but her brain telling her that there were no connections between her and anyone now.

After exhausting herself with tears she crept into the dorm and pulled the curtains on her bed shut, not even wriggling out of her clothes. The dream came quickly.

A flash of lighting against pasty skin, sweat on the blade as it slowly scrapes the moisture from the skin. Electricity pops against the Mudblood's chest as the raised wand shoots fireworks onto her skin. The blade tears words, words that flood the Mudblood's weak and sensitive mind as she whimpers. Blood is staining the floor, the walls, her clothes, her hair. Her hair is warm and sticky, and so are her hands. Manic laughter echoes through her mind, and tears wash white lines on the red-soaked face. The blade flashes like lightening as the storm deepens, cuts smothering the weak form on the Mudblood-drenched rug.

Hermione gasped, heaving sobs straining against her chest. Her palms were gripping her head so tightly that she could feel herself pulling out frizzy hairs. It was worse. It was awful. No words, no thoughts, just running as fast as she could to the Tower. She burst in, gasping and sobbing still.

"Granger?" came Malfoy's voice. "Oh Merlin." He got up, dropping the book from his lap onto the floor with a clatter. Malfoy lifted her firmly, so she was standing up.

"The dream?" he asked, still with his hands on her arms. She nodded, trying to calm her breathing so she would have a chance of calming down. Hermione was ashamed that Malfoy was here to see her in her weakest state.

"Oh, Merlin. Oh, Merlin," he muttered, letting go of her and scraping his hands through his hair. "I don't know what to do, Granger. Merlin's sake..."

"I'm s-s-sorry," she muttered between sobs, hands shaking as she tucked her hair behind her ears.

"No, no, I'm not... It's fine. I just have no idea how to help... I want to help, but I don't know how..." Malfoy said, pacing as he looked at Hermione with concern. "Do you need to go the Hospital Wing?"

She shook her head violently.

"No? Oh, Merlin... Come on, sit down." He put a hand on her shoulder and helped her sit down on one of the cushions. Hermione hugged her knees, looking at him with wild eyes.

"I'll read to you. That was the advice you gave me the last time I... The last time I cut. Here, I even brought my book with me when I started to get the urge tonight. It's not a very interesting book, but it might help." So Malfoy sat down beside Hermione, who was watching him curiously, and started to read. He stuttered over a few words, looking at her as if unsure whether it was helping or not, but carried on. Hermione's breathing slowed, and she slowly unwound herself until she was leaning against the wall with her legs stretched out in front of her.

Malfoy only stopped reading when he felt Hermione tugging lightly at the bandage on his arm.

"What?"

"You kept it on," she said, smiling at him. He smiled back.

"Yes. I did." They sat in silence, looking at the wall until Malfoy said,

"I saw you and Weasley today."

"Where?"

"In Hogsmeade. All snuggled up together on a bench."

"We weren't snuggling." Hermione said disdainfully.

"So you and Weasley are still an item, then," he stated, looking mildly disgusted.

"No." Hermione sighed, "We're just friends. It was lovely at first, but there was nothing there. He was always like a brother to me, and it just took us a little while to realise that's all we were to each other."

Malfoy made a little disbelieving noise, but left the conversation there. Hermione yawned, and slid down the wooden floor until her head was on the cushion and her toes were touching the beam on the other side of the narrow room. She looked up and across and Malfoy, who had his eyes closed and seemed to be napping. With that, she slipped into a tentative, dreamless sleep.

What she never knew was that as she slept, Malfoy looked down and saw her finally resting. He smiled, and turned onto his side to doze.