Who did this to you?
Another day, another reminder that even though the war was officially over, animosity still festered in people’s hearts. Hermione had finished her prefect rounds for the evening and was heading through the 8th year common room to her private quarters when she noticed Draco Malfoy sitting in the back past the fireplace. He was nearly hidden and only noticeable to her because she often chose the same location for its privacy and proximity to the tea cart.
His shock of white hair was barely visible over the cushion where he slouched. She could have called out his name, but Hermione opted to approach silently—so as not to surprise him, of course.
As suspected, he was asleep. Hermione couldn’t count the number of times where she, too, had passed out in the nook, forgotten or unnoticed to everyone else, only to wake up at some ungodly hour in the early morning before trudging back to her room for an unsatisfying remainder of hours before class.
She approached, but rather than wake him up like she intended, she studied his features. He looked better than he had during 6th year, but that wasn’t saying much given the other times she had seen him since. While his hair still fell in a perfect arc over his forehead, the dark circles under his eyes remained. This time, they were accented by additional bruising that bloomed across his left cheekbone. His lip was also split and still puffy.
His eyes fluttered open just as she leaned in to look closer.
“Can I help you, Granger?” His voice was hoarse.
“Who did this to you, Malfoy?”
He studied her for a moment before answering, voice curiously flat. “Do you wish you could have joined them?”
She jerked backward at the question, brow furrowed and cheeks tinged pink. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Rather than answer her question with another question, he just shook his head and started gathering his things.
“Forget about it.”
Hermione chewed on her lip as she watched him stack his books. Despite his injuries, she saw no cuts or bruising on his own knuckles. Whoever did this to him hadn’t received a punch in kind.
“Malfoy, wait.”
He sighed and turned to face her, one eyebrow raised.
“Just, let me—” Stepping into his space she raised a hand towards his face, and his eyes widened.
In what felt like a dream, she watched her own fingertips brush across his lips, now parted, before tracing up towards his cheekbone.
“Episkey,” she murmured, watching the cuts close to only leave bruises. “Please just…wait.”
Light irises traced her movement as she turned to set her bag down and rummage through it. She turned back to him, jar in hand, and as she unscrewed the lid, his nostrils flared in familiarity.
“Do you always carry murtlap essence in your school bag, Granger?” His teeth clicked closed as she stepped back up to him once more.
“It just became a habit after everything that happened last year,” she explained as she carefully dabbed the mixture onto his bruises. His skin was so pale and smooth, and she couldn’t help but continue tracing her fingertips up his jaw towards the back of his neck. Was his hair as soft as it looked?
The moment her hand slipped up and into hair, he tilted his head to press into her hand. Hermione’s eyes snapped back to Malfoy’s. His own were shut as he leaned into her touch. Taking his actions as permission, she turned back to her earlier explorations, kneading the scalp and marveling at the slippery tresses spilling over her hand. She didn’t realize she was moving closer to him until her chest brushed up against his and he breathed in sharply, the sound slicing through the heavy silence surrounding them.
This time, their eyes met, his own as unreadable as a gathering storm. Neither of them moved closer, nor did they shift away. For all Hermione knew, they might have stayed there frozen for everyone to find in the few hours remaining until morning.
The sound of a log splitting in the fireplace startled them from their moment, and Hermione was the first to step back, twisting the container in her hands to and fro.
“I can’t get rid of all the bruising—that will just take some time.”
“I know. Thank you.”
Again, she stilled. The apology was completely natural given the circumstances yet still unexpected. She was hesitant to pry, but the question bubbled out of her again despite attempts to suppress it.
“Draco, who did this to you?”
“It doesn’t matter.” His lips set into a line, jaw clenched.
“It does matter.”
“Why do you care?”
“Because we’re better than this.”
His eyes widened, and she took it as an invitation to continue.
“We survived through hell and we’re here now–damaged, yes, but alive and, Merlin-willing, healing. We’ll never change anything for the better if we don’t move past all the shite: the hate, the resentment, the old-world entitlement.”
“Pretty words, Granger, but I’m not exactly the one you should be trying to convince. I’m already a believer.”
“Are you?”
“You kind of make it hard not to be.”
And for a moment, so brief that Hermione might have considered it seeing what she wanted to see rather than reality, a glimmer of Malfoy’s smirk reappeared. This time, the idea that it was for her rather than at her expense made her stomach feel all sorts of wonderfully strange and unsettled.
“Well, if you won’t tell me, I’ll just have to find out for myself.”
“How do you plan to do that?” Was that the start of a drawl she heard in his question?
“I’ll just have to keep you company from now on, your own personal bodyguard.”
“What is it muggles say…a ‘guardian angel’?”
“Where in the world did you learn that phrase?”
He shrugged shoulders that had filled out nicely over the past several months, scanning her appraisingly from beneath a lowered gaze. This time, she let him brush by uninterrupted on his path towards his room, the warmth of his arm leaving a pulsing sensation along her shoulder, his cologne lingering in the air.
“Granger?”
“Hm?” She turned slowly, still caught in a daze of woodsmoke and spice. This time, the smirk on his lips was undeniable, accentuating the roguish charm of his still visible bruises and tousled hair.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night.”