*TW* Mention of domestic abuse, depictions of injury, panic attack
Draco didn't know why he let Theo convince him to go out that night. His mind was still reeling from his almost kiss with Granger weeks ago.
She was avoiding him. He understood why. He had crossed a line. He had no right to feel the way he did about her, but that didn't change the fact that he did feel something for her. Something much more than a platonic coworker should feel.
He couldn't get her lips out of his head. How she bit her bottom lip when she concentrated or when they tugged against her teeth into a genuine smile. How they parted slightly when she was listening to someone talk passionately about something they loved.
She was a different kind of radiant. The type of sunshine that peeked through the cracks of tree lines or fissures in buildings. She broke her way through without apology, shining her light on everything dark, making it good.
"Are you alright, mate?" Theo broke his thoughts, sliding him another shot of firewhiskey.
Draco pushed it towards Blaise, who took it willingly. "I think I'm going to head in for the night."
"Are you sure? We never celebrated your big win with the Wizengamot." Theo pushed.
"Yeah, what's up, Malfoy?" Blaise chimed in.
"Just a bit tired is all. Drinks on me, boys." He stood from his seat at the bar, leaving a pile of Galleons for the bartender. "This should cover my tab and theirs, yes?"
She widened her eyes at the obscene amount of coins on the counter and nodded mindlessly. "Uh, thank you," she blurted as she raked the coins into her hands.
"You're a good man, Draco," Theo cheered as he shook his hand.
"I knew we kept you around for some reason," Blaise whispered as he ordered another martini.
Draco scoffed. "Goodnight, mates."
He dipped out of the pub into the chilly night. He wondered what Granger was doing for her birthday. He was sure she would spend it with her husband on some corny date that only the Weasel could come up with.
Was she enjoying herself?
He pictured them out to dinner. Perhaps she was wearing a dress, with her hair cascading down her back. Would it be a Muggle restaurant? Or maybe a nice place in Wizarding London?
He silently wished it could've been him. He could see her laughing as they walked down the street, tipsy from a few glasses of wine at dinner, holding the flowers he would have gotten her. She was smiling back at him, with his hand in hers and her hair blowing in the mid-September wind.
He shook his head. She married him. They were happy. He would just have to learn to accept that as fact and move on.
He lazily walked down the street, kicking his shoes against the cobblestone below him when he heard an almost silent sniffle come from the alley to his left. He narrowed his eyes to see in the dark and saw a woman sitting in a dark dress against the brick wall of a pub; her knees pulled into herself.
"Excuse me, are you alright–" He stopped when he got close enough to make out her unmistakable curls. Then he was running.
"Shit – Granger, what the fuck happened?" He rushed as he knelt next to her. She tensed at his hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay? Where is Weasley?"
She slowly lifted her head to meet his face. And as her hair fell out of the way of her eyes, he felt like he had been punched in the chest.
There was a large cut just below her left eye. The area around it had already started to swell, and there was a bruise forming around the corner of her mouth.
He couldn't breathe. He was seething, balling his hands into merciless fists. "Who – who did this to you, Granger?" he spit through clenched teeth.
She didn't respond. Just stared at him blankly.
What had happened? Was she mugged? He couldn't see her getting into a pub fight unless she was trying to break it up. His mind was racing, and all he knew was that she was in shock, and he had to get her out of that alley.
"It's okay. I'm going to help you, okay?" He looked around, finding no trace of her husband or friends. Where the hell was everyone? Not knowing what else to do, he slowly wrapped his hands around her back and under her knees, careful to tuck her dress in his arms to keep her covered. He picked her up and Disapparated.
They landed in the living area of his flat. He sat her gently on his sofa, whispering words of comfort. He conjured a glass of water for her and cast a simple healing spell that Blaise had shown him on her face.
"Granger... what is going on? Are you okay? Who – Who did this to you? Just – come on, just talk to me, yeah?"
She looked up to him, the unfocused, glossy look in her eye making his stomach flip. He knew that look, having worn it himself for years during the war before he finally tore the walls down.
She was using Occlumency.
He just needed to know. What was she hiding? Salazar forgive him; he just wanted to help her.
It was disturbing. To see the usual fire in her eye sizzled into nothing but a muddy smoke. It seemed even the golden flecks that freckled her irises dulled to a soft yellow.
It wasn't right. Hermione Granger was a fighter.
"Please, Granger," he begged her to come back, to snap out of it, to let him in.
Some of the clouds blocking the usual openness of her eyes cleared, her pupils dilating like craters opening up in earth. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. That's it. Come back.
She blinked as her emotions overtook her again, tears starting to leak over her lower lids, spilling onto the apples of her cheeks.
"Malfoy?" Her voice broke – cracked around his name.
"It's okay. We're at my flat. What happened? Where is Weasley?"
She flinched at his name, and he tensed. She avoided his eyes, shame filling her face.
No. It couldn't be–
"Granger... no." He pushed the hair behind her ear as dark brown met dull drey. And he knew. Before she even said it. He knew.
"I loved him," she whispered, face smooth and voice distant. "But he... he k-keeps hurting me. And I keep l-letting him. I keep forgiving h-him. And I think... I think I'm going to..." she sucked in a deep breath, seeking to steady herself, her tone dropping impossibly low. "I don't think I'll make it. I think he's going to kill me. And it'll be my fault."
Draco blinked before his eyes fluttered shut. And then he only saw red.
Red like the light of a Cruciatus leaving the tip of his wand during the war. The last time he had ever uttered the wretched curse.
Red like the bloodshot veins crowding Granger's deep chocolate eyes.
Red like that stupid fucking mop on the top of that sad, pathetic, vile excuse of a wizard's head.
He clenched his jaw so tight he could swear he felt his teeth break. That fucking lowlife piece of shite.
This was it – what she had been hiding from everyone. Suddenly the picture of the perfect life he had painted for her bled from its canvas, and his heart broke at the image left in its place. He decided to test a theory, whispering "Finite Incantatem."
His breath halted in his chest.
She was covered in bruises of all stages. Some new, dyeing her olive skin deep shades of black and purple, others fading to a muted yellow. They littered her body, from her face to the exposed parts of her chest and arms. He raised his chin back towards her face, confounded by the sheer mass of injuries. She bit her trembling and bruised lip, sinking her head in her hands and quietly sobbing.
He rose suddenly, first shaking in white-hot rage. He was going to kill him. No, he was going to slowly rip him apart for even breathing near her.
"Stay here, Granger."
"No, wait," she croaked. "Please – please don't leave me."
He picked up his wand and his cloak, marching to the door, no intention other than reaching his hand down that fucking Weasel's throat and pulling out his stomach.
Hermione shuffled to her feet. "Malfoy, where are you going?"
His tone was even. Unwavering. "I'm going to find him so I can kill fucking him."
"NO!" she shouted, grabbing his arm to stop him. "You can't! He's my husband. You can't hurt him!"
Draco didn't even turn to face her as he replied. "Do you think I care that he's your husband? I don't care if he's bloody Merlin, Granger. No man should ever put his hands on a woman in that way."
She put herself in front of him, her hands tugging at the fabric on his chest. "Please, Malfoy, just stop. It's not his fault, I–"
He stood frozen. "Not his fault?" he repeated with a humorless laugh. "Please, tell me what you could have possibly done to constitute this ongoing abuse? I'm not blind, Granger, nor am I incompetent. Some of these bruises are weeks old, while others are fresh. Exactly how long has he been hurting you?"
Her nostrils flared as she tried to keep her emotions at bay. "I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't even be here, please can we just ignore this–"
He didn't respond. He stepped around her, ignoring her attempts to stop him as he reached for the doorknob.
"Malfoy! Stop! Please just – DRACO!"
He stood in the open doorway, caught off guard by the sound of his name on her tongue. He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath before he rotated towards her again.
"They won't believe you, Draco... Harry is Head Auror and Ron is his best friend. They hate you. They won't believe you, no matter how hard I try to stop them. The odds are stacked against you. The Wizengamot would gladly jump at the chance to lock you away in Azkaban. You can't – I can't let you – please, Draco."
He shook his head. "He can't just get away with hurting you, Granger. He doesn't get – it's just not right. You don't deserve this."
"You don't know the entire situation. I'm handling it, okay? You'll only make it worse."
"Granger... I'll protect you. I swear to you, I won't let him hurt you." He raised his hand to gently hold her face, wiping away her tears before they fell to the ground.
"Just – just don't go, okay? I don't want to be alone, I just..." She broke off, forcing a sob back down her throat and his heart ached to hold her. Her breath grew quicker as she clawed at her chest. "I can't – You can't ruin your life for me, Draco. Please, don't leave me–"
She was starting to panic. He pulled her into his chest, tangling one hand in her hair, holding her steady as she unraveled. "Promise me," she choked, over and over. "Please, Draco, promise me you won't tell anyone. Promise me you won't hurt him."
He felt his face scrunch with pain. He would give this witch anything. But he couldn't let him near her anymore. "I... I can't. Please let me help you."
Her sobs grew uncontrollable as she sank to her knees. He followed her down. "P-please. I c-can't lose you. Y-you have to p-promise me. Please," she begged.
"Okay," he relented. "Okay, Hermione. I promise. It's okay. You're safe here, okay? I promise." He rubbed his thumb in tiny circles across her cheeks as he felt her begin to calm, going slack in his arms. He picked her up and laid her on the sofa again, kneeling in front of her and brushing her hair out of her face. "It's okay," he repeated again and again, until she eventually fell asleep.
He stared at her, wondering how anyone could ever lay a hand on someone so soft. So perfect and kind and caring. He wished he could tear the world apart and separate the two of them from everything else, if only to keep her safe.
He hated himself for making that promise. Either way he was fucked. If he kept his promise, he couldn't help her. She would stay in this unthinkable state and he wouldn't be able to protect her. If he broke it she would never forgive him. She would never trust him again. And there was no guarantee that anyone would even believe him. He cursed himself as he looked into her face, now stiff and cold from her dried tears.
"Dammit, Granger..." He whispered to her sleeping figure. "I'll find a way to fix this. I will. I'll find a way to protect you."
Being careful not to wake her, he slowly got to his feet and quietly walked to his library. He summoned every book he had on healing, levitating them as he moved through the aisles. After finding everything he thought could help, he traveled back to his living area to resume his place beside her with a stack of books as tall as himself.
He read through every book, first attempting to learn a Diagnostic Charm. Multiple failed attempts later, he finally cast a successful one on Hermione, his jaw clenching as he read through the list of injuries.
Two cracked ribs that hadn't healed properly. A crack in her skull below her eye. Multiple lacerations to the tops of her arms and her wrists. Bruises covering every inch of her body.
He read more, trying to find what spells or potions would help her. He found a numbing spell that would keep her from feeling any pain as he healed her, casting it quietly over her as she slept. He moved on to cast multiple simple Episkey charms to heal her cuts, then turning to her bruises, finding the spell Tolle Dolorem that faded all of the lesions.
He searched every book for ways to fix her broken bones, but couldn't find any that would allow him to work while she was asleep, or cause her more pain. So instead he went to his potion stores and found two vials of pain potions and three vials of Skele-Gro. He would give them to her to take when she woke.
Setting the potions on the table in front of the sofa, he settled in on the chair opposite of her, watching her chest rise and fall with her breaths. His eyes grew heavy and his muscles were weak from the exhaustion of all the healing charms he had preformed. He fought through it, trying to stay awake so he could be there when she woke up.
He didn't mean to fall asleep there. But when the sun from his windows began to push against his eyelids, he jumped to his feet, finding himself alone in his flat.
His stomach sank to his feet.