Thin Lines

05.

It had become some sort of regular act. And Draco was not yet sure if he found comfort in the act or not, but regardless, it happened.

Each night, all seven of the remaining eighth year Gryffindor and Slytherins would go to bed, though they were sure to wake back up from the nightmares that haunted them hours later. And the first to wake would always start a pot of coffee, waiting for the others to come down and join.

The first night back at Hogwarts, it had been Weasley who had been the first up, with Neville being the first the next night, and now on this third night, it seemed it was Draco's turn.

He sat bolt upright, chest heaving and eyes wild. He ran a shaky hand down his face, eyes clenched shut for one moment before he threw the covers off of his body and made his way through the dark room and out of the door. He made his way down to the private common room and gave a quick look around, searching for another.

No one else was awake, and taking a glance at the hanging clock, he could see why. 1:23. Only two hours and a little less than thirty minutes of sleep. He was going to be feeling this in the morning, he was sure.

With a soft sigh, he moved towards the kitchen and started the brew of coffee. He was just pouring a cup when the door creaked softly as someone pushed it open. He gave a quick glance over his shoulder, moving to grab another mug as Hermione shuffled into the room.

"Draco," she murmured softly. Her wild curls covered some of her face but her tired eyes connected with his.

He sat the pot down and grabbed a towel to wipe up the drop that had spilled, "go ahead and sit, Granger, I've got your cup."

Draco heard a soft plop and when he looked over at her, mugs in his hands, she was buried in a pile of fuzzy blankets and wild curls. A small smile made its way into his face without his notice and he moved to sit beside her. She raised one corner of the covers, allowing him entry, her fingers brushing his as she took a mug from his hands.

They sat silently for a few minutes, just taking in the quiet night and warm coffee. But Hermione was growing uneasy as the seconds ticked away.

"Draco, can we talk. It helps me."

Draco looked at her, but she did not meet his eyes, too busy looking into her cup. He frowned slightly, he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear about her nightmares or even speak of his own. Finally, she looked up, brown eyes pleading him. He sighed softly but gave a small nod.

Hermione fell back into the sofa, digging in just a little further and heaved a sigh. "I, well tonight I dreamt of that night at your house." She hesitated, but continued when Draco looked down at her, "when Bellatrix tortured me."

Draco looked away, guilt filling him. He ran a hand through his hair as she continued to speak.

"I just, in my dreams, it's much more than what actually happened. You know?" She paused to look at him, eye brows frowned and lips pursed. Draco gave a small nod in agreement. His dreams were the same.

"And well, it's horrible. Because Ron and Harry aren't there and it's just pain and agony. And sometimes I can still feel the itch in my skin, like she's still carving into me." Her breathing had sped and she talked faster, almost like she had to get it all out in one breath.

Draco was silent, unsure of what to say. How could he comfort her when what hurt her most of all was something that had happened in his house, her prison was the place he called home. Something that happened in front of him, an occasional nightmare of his own. Something he could have stopped, but didn't.

"What do you dream about, Draco?" She asked, her voice was soft and it almost made Draco want to spill everything, right then and there.

He took a shaky breath. "Things happened in my house over that year, more than you know. More than I want you to know. Too many things. And my dreams vary, I dream of one thing one night, and another on another night. But many of my dreams revolve around the battle."

And he wasn't lying, which Draco found surprising. When his mum asked him, he was hardly compliant, making up a short answer or avoiding details altogether. But for some odd reason, Draco felt he had to be upfront with Hermione as she had been the same with him.

He hesitated, glancing at her quickly before looking back down. "I dream a lot about how he hugged me, laid his hands on me. How my family allowed him to be anywhere near me. How if they really loved me, they wouldn't have been on that side of the war. And how my life would have been if my parents weren't the way they were back then."

And then he was silent, thinking about his words. Because that was the first time he had actually said them, and he was surprised with how truthful he was being with himself.

"You can't blame them."

Draco's head snapped up, flames dancing behind his narrowed eyes. "You can't tell me how to feel." It came out harsher than he had intended and the moment he said it he had regretted it. His eyes widened and he tried to express how sorry he was but no words came out.

Hermione looked away from him and sighed softly. "You should just be thankful you have a mum and dad."

He frowned, wanting to ask about her parents, but remained silent.

They didn't speak again for a good five minutes before Draco found his voice. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" She eyed him curiously.

He shrugged a little, "everything."

They had both fallen asleep buried deep in the covers by the time the next one of the group had made their way downstairs. And by then, all to be seen was a pale arm wrapped around a small body and a little bit of blonde hair mixed in with brown curls.