Chapter 8
When Hermione woke up, both the flames and the nightmare had turned into faint embers glowing in the dim morning light.
She looked down at her bandaged hand and removed it. It looked so much better.
The same could not be said for the rest of her body.
Her body felt heavy, burdened by something she couldn't get rid of. She felt like a house with no flesh-and-blood inhabitants, haunted by ghosts that she herself fed and that, therefore, wouldn't go away. She exhaled slowly, trying to free herself, but the feeling remained.
She couldn’t stay there.
Pulling back the blanket, she sat on the edge of the sofa, her body protesting the movement. She needed air. Space. The house - its walls, its silence, Malfoy's presence - was pressing down on her, suffocating her.
Her bare feet met the cold floor, walking towards the door. Hermione didn't bother with shoes, a towel, anything.
She just needed the sea.
The wind was sharp against her skin as she stepped outside, the early morning air biting at her exposed arms. But it didn't matter. The sand was cool beneath her feet, damp from the lingering touch of night, and the scent of salt filled her lungs.
She ran until the waves caressed her ankles, until her thighs were submerged. She let the water wrap around her, pulling her in like a hug. Hermione needed one, and this was the only one she could allow herself to feel.
She dived deeper.
Deeper still.
Hermione dived until she became part of the ocean that welcomed her with open arms. Until the water carried her along, lifted and held her. She let herself be led without fear, because she was aware that the imminence of drowning would not be very different from what she had already experienced on land.
It wouldn't be the water that put an end to her torments.
She closed her eyes and, for the first time since she had woken up, she could breathe.
There, in the middle of the vastness of the sea, Hermione's problems seemed smaller than a grain of sand. Nothing mattered, nothing filled her mind or her ears. She was lulled by the solace of the waves, making her forget the misery her existence had become - and it was nice to feel engulfed by something so much bigger than her fragile body.
Hermione tilted her head back, her hair floating around her like seaweed, and opened her eyes to the sky.
The sky was dressed in soft colors, neither too blue nor too gray. Clouds stretched lazily across the horizon, kissed by the gold of the rising sun.
Hermione played her usual game.
"Which painter would be able to paint the sky today?"
Turner was the first name to pop into her head. With his mastery of the atmosphere and his ability to paint the air itself, she was sure he would be able to do justice to that ethereal landscape.
Hermione sighed, a small, almost content sound. For a moment, there was peace . Real peace.
As if every sunrise she didn't have to greet her demons from the past, who were too stubborn to remain in places where she no longer was.
As if one of them hadn't washed ashore a few days ago, bringing with him all the dust that Hermione had spent the last few months hiding under the carpet.
That was something that also worried her a lot.
She knew why she was on that island, why she had ended up there, leaving everything behind. But she couldn't explain Malfoy's appearance. He never answered her questions, which also made it difficult, of course. The thought that she was in danger, and that somehow he was there because of her, had already crossed her mind. But then there was the curse, which didn't fit into this line of thinking.
This curse was also something that intrigued her. During the war, Hermione had seen many - conjured many more. Yet at no time had she seen anything like what ran through Malfoy's veins. A curse that was bearable to live with.
It was all too strange.
The cold was biting her skin. With a reluctant sigh, she let himself sink into the water one last time, clearing her mind and soul, before pulling herself away from the seabed and returning to the shore.
Her clothes clung to her as she stepped onto the sand, soaked through, the fabric pressing against every line of her body. Her hair dripped onto her shoulders, her skin prickling as the breeze hit her.
As much as it felt good to feel the wind against her chilled skin, Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, walking towards home.
She entered silently, with the usual silence welcoming her with some hostility. Hermione preferred to focus on the warmth of the house enveloping her, although it wasn't enough to stop the shiver that ran through her body. Without thinking, she made her way straight to the bathroom, her only thought being a hot shower to chase away the cold.
She pushed open the door—
And stopped dead.
Malfoy.
Half-naked.
Water still clung to his skin, droplets catching the light as they ran down his chest, disappearing into the towel slung low on his hips. His hair was damp, sticking to his forehead, disheveled in a way that made him look infuriatingly good.
Heat shot straight to her face, her mind stalling completely before instinct kicked in. She yelped, spinning around so fast she nearly tripped over herself, both hands flying to her face.
"You—!" she sputtered, voice high-pitched, mortified. "Why didn't you lock the door?!"
"Why didn’t you knock?!"
Her hands were still over her eyes, her back firmly turned to the bathroom. "I was going to take a shower! I didn't think I'd walk in on, on—".
He made a noise that came out half mocking, half exasperated "Merlin, Granger, it's just a body. Relax."
Hermione felt a fresh wave of embarrassment creep up her neck. "That is not the point!"
"You can turn around now."
Cautiously, she turned in the direction of the bathroom, peeking through her fingers before lowering them completely. Fortunately for Hermione's eyesight, he was already fully dressed.
"Are you planning to stand there all d-?" the words had gotten lost in his throat.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
"Granger."
In all her years, Hermione couldn't remember ever hearing him speak in such a deep tone. It sounded like the voice was coming from somewhere too deep inside him, which made her start to move again.
Blindly, she tried to reach for the door handle. "Sorry! I didn’t—"
"Wait."
His voice stopped her. Hesitant. Something strange flickered in his expression, his gaze flicking over her. And that was when Hermione realized.
Her clothes. The way they clung to her, the fabric soaked through, revealing everything.
She sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly hyperware of the way his eyes lingered for a fraction too long.
Draco swallowed.
The air between them thickened. The clocks stopped ticking in circles.
He should look away. He should say something snide, something sharp to break the moment.
But he didn’t. He just stared.
Hermione’s throat went dry.
"You’re dripping," he said finally, his voice quieter than usual.
She turned away again, eyes locked on the ceiling, willing herself to erase the entire interaction from her mind.
Not working.
She should move. She should.
But his feet wouldn't listen. They seemed to have stayed in the middle of the waves, swimming on their own. Hermione didn't feel them as her own, so all she could do was stand there, not knowing what to do or say.
Neither of them spoke.
The moment stretched, sharp as a blade, fragile as glass.
Then, without a warning, Draco exhaled and left the bathroom, like nothing had happened. "Just take your damn shower, Granger."
***
Hermione took the fastest shower of her life.
Even with the hot water washing over her, she couldn't stop thinking about what had just happened.
She needed to throw herself back into the middle of the sea, to let go of these thoughts that were eating away at her soul. To drown in the depths of the abyss the way Malfoy's eyes traveled over every feature of her body. The way they lingered on every corner of her.
Hermione concluded that she was officially going crazy.
She rubbed her skin, as if that would eliminate the tension that was building up in the pit of her stomach. But it was still there, simmering beneath the surface.
By the time she stepped out of the shower, her skin was warm, her hair a damp curtain down her back, and her mind an absolute mess.
Pull yourself together, Hermione Jean Granger.
She wrapped herself in a towel, quickly getting dressed into something safe: a pair of pants and a sweater, something that didn’t cling or reveal too much. Something that felt like armor.
Because that’s what she needed. Armor. Distance. Control.
And that started with ignoring Malfoy.
It was with this thought that Hermione opened the door and left the bathroom. Perhaps it was a childish attitude, but for the sake of her own perseverance, she would avoid him. After all, it's not as if they were on good terms before this event.
She was committed to doing what she had decided, if only she hadn't heard a scream coming from the bedroom.
Malfoy was screaming as if every bone in his body was being broken. When Hermione walked distressingly into the room, it almost seemed that way.
Leaning against the window, Malfoy kept one hand resting on the window and the other clutching his chest tightly. Anguish and pain collided on his face.
“Malfoy!”
The concern in her voice echoed throughout the room. It wasn't something pretty to look at.
Her feet moved before she could think. She rushed to his side, hands hovering over him, unsure where to put them. He was gripping his chest so tightly that his knuckles turned white, as though holding himself together by sheer force of will.
Hermione felt him shiver under her touch.
“Let—” He gasped. “Let go—”
“Let go of what?” Hermione demanded. “What’s happening?”
He spoke between uncontrolled gasps of air “It’s—burning—”.
Hermione followed his gaze down to the end of his neck. That’s when she saw it.
Another word.
Actually, two.
Torn between.
The letters burned dark, as if etched into his skin by fire. Draco sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body going rigid, before the word sank into his skin—fading, just like the others.
Then, like a bowstring snapped, the tension in his body gave way. He leapt forward, falling on top of her.
Hermione grabbed him on instinct, the force of the blow stealing the breath from her lungs. His weight caused her to stumble, her knees buckling, but she held her ground.
His body trembled against hers and no sound could be heard other than his heartbeat. Hermione wondered if her heart was beating like that too — faint, distant from life, almost non-existent.