Chapter Text
Coping With Silence
Chapter 1
Sometimes it seems that people hear best what we do not say
-Eric Hoffer
May 4, 1998
Remus. Dead.
Tonks. Dead.
Dumbledore. Dead.
Dobby. Dead.
Her parents…gone.
Walking the halls after the battle had bestowed upon Hermione emotions that words couldn’t accurately describe. The closest thing Hermione could match her feelings and thoughts to was how everything simply seemed…surreal. Surely she was dreaming?
Or having the longest, never-ending nightmare.
Finding herself in front of a broken window close to the Hufflepuff Dormitories, Hermione couldn’t stop herself from brushing her fingers gently across the glass. Through the blood, dirt, and miscellaneous stains sullying the window, Hermione just barely could view her own reflection. She saw enough though, to question:
Is that me?
Running her fingers further down the glass, Hermione’s eyes trailed with them, fully taking in her own appearance.
The blood from Bellatrix Lestrange’s scar on her forearm was beginning to bleed through the bandage she had wrapped around it that morning. Figures . Madam Pomfrey had explained that due to the nature of the crude injury, the Matron expected the injury to continue bleeding for another 3-5 days minimum. Every spell and potion the kind woman had at her disposal already had been applied to the wound. Now, it just required patience and positivity.
The jeans that Hermione had tied two old shoelaces around the waistband to act like a belt, were still almost falling off her. She had lost too much weight while on the run. It almost disgusted her in a way, when she looked at herself in any mirrored surface that she walked by. Her clavicle, cheek bones, and shoulder blades all protruded more than they ever had in Hermione’s life. Looking at her reflection, well, it was hard to recognize who was on the other side. Admitting to herself, she did get tired much easier than prior to being on the run. Small amounts of her hair had also begun to fall out, at sporadic intervals. Baby steps . Madam Pomfrey had put an appointment in her calendar for Hermione in a few short days time, to see if any improvement had been had. A strict potion regime was to be started promptly to help counteract the malnutrition she’d suffered through. A meal plan was also to be discussed.
Bags dark enough to mimic the patches on a raccoon's face were seemingly painted under her eyes. When did I even last sleep? Her blouse and jacket, once one of the few articles of clothing Hermione had treasured in her wardrobe, were so slick with sweat, dried blood, and mud, that Hermione didn’t even figure with magic, that they’d be salvageable. Treasures from one of her final shopping trips with her mother before Obliviation, Hermione tried her very hardest not to dwell on their ruin.
Have I even allowed myself to mourn the loss of something so trivial? CAN I even mourn such a thing? I lived through a War, can I truly cry over belongings?
When had the battle even ended? A day ago? Two days? It all bled together at this point.
Despite all of the new faces, and all of the familiar ones that had returned to help restore the school in the aftermath of battle, it was still hard to process. Most days, Hermione’s eyes possessed a kind of blur, blocking her from seeing anything other than what was needed to get through her day.
She was ignored, as she preferred it. Of course, she tended to ignore a lot of people too these days, preferring it almost.
She ignored the pain she felt, knowing that she survived while so many others hadn’t.
Was pain even something to acknowledge anymore?
She ignored the pain which she felt, living with permanent scarring over her body.
She ignored the pain which she went through on a daily basis, as her body learned not to feed off itself from starvation. Now, learning to once again fuel herself, and provide necessary self-care.
Hermione learned to force herself to feel nothing, until the act of blankness became as simple as breathing.
She woke up when she chose; slept when she couldn’t bear to look at people anymore; sat for meals when hunger overwhelmed her desire to be ignored...to not have to deal.
The War may have ended, but truly, was recovery something that was guaranteed?
xxx
Leaning her head against one of the stone walls that lined the outside of the Great Hall, Hermione finally allowed herself to breathe for the first time in what felt like days. She could feel the deep breaths leaving her body, as the stone pebbles beneath her fingers left indents in her skin. Left on the floor from any number of walls which had been demolished in the carnage of battle. Additionally, she could taste the smell of death and pain in the air, despite their joint efforts to remove any physical evidence of such from the grounds. Essentially, Hermione could feel the War around her, even if it was long over. Her internal war, though, was still raging.
Once you’ve experienced loss…and pain…does it ever truly leave you?
Sometimes she wondered what it would have been like to have a “normal” childhood. One, where she wasn’t petrified by a Basilisk before she even started menstruating, or one where she hadn’t been attacked by men and women hell bent on killing her before she was even legally allowed to drive a car!
Choosing to focus on the sensation of her breaths, Hermione failed to notice that she had begun crying, nor when she curled her thin arms around her equally thin legs. Eventually she stopped focusing on her breathing, and simply allowed herself to cry. Curling in further, she eventually became completely unaware of the world around herself.
How long had it been since she’d simply...cried? Since she allowed herself to even feel? How long had it been, since the constant need to watch over her shoulder prevented her from even sitting down and closing her eyes? How long had it been, since she’d...let go?.
You’ve lived through a War. Your childhood is no more. You don't ever “let go”.
That thought flickered across her mind more than she’d like to admit. Hermione agreed upon it though. She’d been tortured and killed in order to survive. How could one ever move past that?
An ache in her arm reminded her of the ever-present scar that graced her skin. One day soon hopefully, the bleeding would stop and then she simply would be left with the crudely written word.
Her blessedly horrible “Mudblood'' would remain forever more though. Dark magic was unforgiving. It matched in severity with the scar along her chest which nearly bisected her torso, along with the thin scar on her neck from Bellatrix’s wand pressing into her skin. It matched every bone that she could now view on her chest, which before hid under healthy skin and fat, as well as the frailty of her hair, which had seemingly oozed life from. It matched her exhaustion, from lack of calories, sleep, and willingness to care for herself.
“Granger,” a low, deep voice called from the entrance way, snapping Hermione from her deep thoughts. Glancing up, a small smile automatically graced Hermione’s lips. When was the last time I smiled ?
“Shove it, I’m coping over here.” She whispered, coming back into herself, and quickly wiping the smile from her lips. Angrily moving her wrist over her eyes, she chose to ignore the sass which had escaped from her mouth. In recent days, a new degree of attitude which she didn’t know herself to previously possess had become evident in her daily persona. It had shown itself in all of her day-to-day conversations as of late. It was a change, one which Hermione wasn’t sure how to form an opinion on.
Hearing a dramatic sigh, Hermione’s eyes widened at the sight before her.
With a “plop,” a large form placed themselves at her left hip, barely leaving enough room for a Golden Snitch to fit between the two students. Giving Hermione no time to process what was happening, Hermione’s visitor of sorts lifted an arm, immediately surrounding her in their body heat. Gazing up at her visitor, piercing violet eyes stared back. In Hermione’s shock, her body tremors which had followed her for as long as current memory could remember, became almost manageable and coherency began returning.
“Wha-what are you doing?”
“I’m being comforting. I thought that much was obvious?”
With confused eyes, Hermione shook her head. When she mentioned softly that she just wanted to be left alone, her uninvited guest shook his head in the negative.
“No can do, Granger.”
“Oh, and why is that, Zabini? Shouldn’t I be allowed to wallow and scream and cry in peace? I’m pretty sure it’s one of the perks of surviving the never-ending Hell that I just did.”
“You can,” he agreed after a moment. “And if you truly want me to leave, then I will. But I know from personal experience as of late, that sometimes you simply need someone to scream at. Scream at...cry at...wallow with...it came in handy this past year, if not these past few days.”
Hermione was silent for a moment, allowing the warm arm around her body to settle her down. She truly contemplated shaking off the aforementioned appendage, but at the same time, the weight of his arm was doing wonders to soothe her soul. He was so warm, and a large part of herself had been frozen since the night of the Final Battle. No one had been brave enough to come near her to this degree, surprisingly. Though truthfully, a lot of that was due to Hermione herself.
Other than Harry and Ron, something about Hermione had kept the other survivors “away” in the sense of touching her. Many had tried verbal communication, which Hermione found various ways to squash, but no one thought a hug, or a handshake, or a wave were something also to initiate. Until now, she hadn’t realized how much, truly, she missed human connection and contact.
“You can stay,” she whispered finally. “But please, don’t tell anyone I was crying.”
Feeling his arm tighten around her, she felt her head being brought to lay against his shoulder. “I know that you hate me Granger, and that the only reason I haven’t been hexed yet is because you are in shock at me touching you and because you likely haven’t slept in literally days…”. Silence followed a minute before he continued. “You can trust me though, Granger. I promise. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Curling her body against the side of Blaise Zabini’s torso, Hermione felt her tears begin to fall more rapidly again. Brushing them away viciously, Hermione brought forth a question which was burning on her mind.
“Why are you helping me?”
Gazing up at him through glazed eyes, Hermione saw him staring at the opposing wall. Blaise was silent a long moment afterwards.
“We’re all a little broken right now, in a way. Though truthfully, I’m here because I heard you crying, and I couldn’t bear the thought of a witch as pure as yourself suffering any longer. We’ve all been through so much, there isn’t any denying that. Coming across you the way I did though, kind of just broke what was left of my own soul.”
She raised a hand, grasping at his shirt yet never stopping her gaze from leaving his face, “You hate me though. You despi-despise my blood.”
She felt him shake his head against her own, “For one so bright, you are equally as stupid.”
“Hey!” She exclaimed, a bright red tinge finding her pale cheeks, lowering her eyes to glance at the floor.
“I don’t mean it in an insult, Granger.” Blaise said softly. “I mean it as to say, that I’m surprised you haven’t noticed through all your spying what we have had to do to survive in Slytherin.”
Grasping tighter, Hermione spoke quietly, “Wha-what do you mean?”
“We had to hate you.” He said slowly, a dead tone in his voice. “Growing up, the upperclassmen have always forced us too. It’s gone down the lines, so to speak, ever since Voldemort was a student here. Bad, very bad repercussions were directed at us if we didn’t listen. In recent years, as Voldemort was regaining his power, it became worse of course but we’ve always been taught to hate you-you and others from the muggle world. It sadly became a way of life that was at times, as easy as breathing.” He glanced down at her, a sad look on his face, “We would be tortured-hexed mostly, if we failed to comply. It was unfortunate and devastating, for all those who suffered under us. I have a lot of regrets.”
“What about in the Room of Requirement?” Hermione questioned, fear rising in her voice. Fear, for the truths she was hearing, and the fact that a part of her, was believing them.
Blaise’s hand tightened on her bicep, bringing her closer to him, “What about it,” he whispered.
“I was there, if you wouldn’t forget. I saw you cast the Fiendfyre. We had to rescue you and Malfoy from nearly falling into it.”
Blaise lowered his head, wincing. “I’m by no means a fighter. But by being a Pure-Blood, I’ve been taught to fight from a young age. Draco has had the same tutelage of course. We know how to fake a fight, Granger. It’s something else you learn as a young child. The two of us, though, always knew that you and your friends would succeed in your mission. Even Draco’s failed Killing Curse was never meant to hit anyone-just give the appearance of so. We had to make it look real, in fear of severe repercussions from any potential witnesses. It just escalated too quickly. I lost control of the Fiendfyre that I cast-arrogantly so. Draco spent hours lecturing me on my stupidity afterwards. I hadn’t meant to injure, let alone kill any of you.”
Hermione abruptly sat up, pulling her legs closer to her body, “Are you trying to tell me that Malfoy is actually on our side? That you both are? That-that all those things he and you have ever spat at me…none of it has been true?” Blaise raised an eyebrow at the small witch beside him, not saying anything. Hermione’s mind whirled, “I’ve been insulted nearly every day for over half a decade by most of your House. Ho-how is a person supposed to believe all of this? I maybe could believe what you told me initially, but Draco Malfoy has actively hated me since I was twelve years old.
“That is what I’m saying, but I know you won’t believe me…not yet at least.” Looking down, he removed his arm, and placed both of his hands on Hermione’s face. Using his thumbs, he began to slowly wipe away the tears that had nearly stopped falling. “You’re in too much pain right now to accept such news-I understand that. I’m not in much of a better place myself, honestly. Having the support this past year-from Draco mainly...it’s gotten me this far.” A small smirk fell upon his face, “Though, I am extremely appreciative that you haven’t hexed me yet-thank you, by the way. Your hexes have always been astoundingly powerful.”
Blaise breathed a moment, stretching his neck to look upwards.
“For now, let out your emotions, and I will sit here and be non-judgemental. You’re safe with me, Granger. I just hope that you will give me the chance to prove it.”
Hermione was silent again, gazing down at the ground. She was aware of the deep gaze that the dark-skinned man was now directing back towards her. It was soul-searching, and it was, for some reason, by no means intimidating.
She was very unstable-especially as she came to accept exactly what she’d endured during the war. If this boy-no, this man, had also experienced his own abuse, and was not afraid of her emotions, then who was she to cast judgment on him at that moment. They’d all done and suffered through horrible things in their tenure at Hogwarts. Sure, amazing experiences had occurred, but it wasn’t without its own atrocities. Could that be enough though, to allow this seemingly well-meaning man into her life to give the support apparently she was very much in need of?
Rational thought could be had later.
For now, his warm embrace was entirely too tempting.
“Just hug me,” she whispered, leaning herself into him again. Soon, the ever-present tears began to fall from her eyes again, and deep sobs escaped her throat. Throughout it, Blaise simply held her, focusing on the sound of her breathing.
“The three of you gave us in Slytherin the greatest gift of all, you know?” Blaise whispered quietly to her. When no response was given but he felt her stiffen, Blaise continued speaking. “By beating that megalomaniac, you’ve allowed those of us who chose to see the light...to be free.”
xxx
Harry and Ron were coping in ways much differently than her own.
A bottle of amber-coloured liquid never seemed to leave their hands since Voldemort fell. There was a steady supply of Fire Whiskey and muggle alcohol running through the students that chose to stay. A significant percentage was in the hands of the two Gryffindor’s. Additionally, flaunting their statuses as “heroes” seemed to bring a sort of joy and brightness to their attitudes, something that also was aided by the ever-growing fan base they’d developed. One which never seemed to leave their sides.
Hermione loved them, and she had countlessly proven that she would give up her life for them, but she couldn’t always understand them.
In her limited understanding of psychology, Hermione truly wondered if any of them walked away without mental trauma. Ron and Harry were resorting to drunkenness every night following the War, and she spent her days wallowing and confused, wasting away to a shell of who she formerly was. Though, was anyone in a better position? Most of her friends and allies had lost someone either in the first Wizarding War, or over the course of the last few years. Many walked away with physical injuries as well.
Many had lost friends…family.
For Harry and Ron presently, she found herself countlessly levitating both of them to their beds after finding them passed out throughout the day in some varying positions on the floor. Once or twice, Ron had blown up at her, only to apologize deeply later, with Harry seemingly in deep pain over his confusion in regard to what was occurring.
It would take a long time for “normal” to be a part of their lives again, if that ever were to happen. Could it even happen?
Because of the two of them choosing to down their liquid coping mechanisms, she had rarely seen them since Voldemort was vanquished. Ginny had tried to verbally comfort her, as had the rest of the Weasley family, all of whom were taking up semi-permanent residence at the school until it was repaired. With one of their own having passed away in the chaos that was war, Hermione had kindly told them that she was okay. She wouldn’t add her own troubles onto theirs. In doing so though, Hermione had barely spoken to any of her red-headed comrades. She hadn’t been able to utilize any of their support. She didn’t have the only family she had left, standing behind her.
That very morning, Harry and Ron had been called to the Headmistresses office immediately before breakfast. In their hungover states, Hermione hadn’t been told a very good story about what transpired, as unfortunately she was not invited to hear it first-hand. But, what she had gathered was that Harry and Ron were given their honorary diplomas early by the Hogwarts Governors. This was done, as both were offered immediate places in Auror training that was due to commence at the soonest convenience. Many Aurors had died that year, and numbers had to be evened. Harry and Ron were due to join two other 7th year students that Hermione hadn’t caught the names of, effective immediately. In their excitement and haste, brief goodbyes had been given to Hermione and the Weasley family, before they’d simply...left.
Hermione noted that such an offer wasn’t given to herself, but she knew it was because the Headmistress understood it wasn’t what she wanted, nor needed.
I don’t need to train to kill again.
To be in ever-present fear of battle.
To purposefully WANT to fight.
As she had lost her two main pillars of support, and was not able to return to the non-Magical world as her parents were permanently displaced in Australia, Hermione found herself at a loss at who to turn to.
What was a person to do, when your closest friends were dealing with their own shit, and the only family you have left literally lost one of their children and doesn’t need to deal with your problems?
Since the final battle less than forty-eight hours prior,, her days consisted of this routine: Wandering the school grounds while wallowing in her grief and occasionally helping restore some balance to the place she’d called home for so many years. It wasn’t healthy by any means, but it “worked”.
Mostly.
Sort of.
Hermione tried the distraction of helping with repairs, but the frequent glancing at blood splattered brick, and the removing of charred limbs from tree branches, had only raised her anxiety levels. Digging graves lasted her almost one full day, before she simply couldn't look at herself anymore. For those who didn’t have relatives to be sent home to, Hogwarts would be their final resting place, and that alone sent unwelcome shivers down her spine.
It took a lot to remind herself to eat, and to sleep. When she did manage to sleep, it was riddled in nightmares. Thankfully, she was the only one residing in the 7th year Gryffindor Girls Dorm Room, which was incredibly ironic...as she’d never had a proper school year there for her final two terms at Hogwarts.
When she did remember to eat, it was usually cut short by someone requiring her aid outside. Meaning, it had been a while since a proper meal was had. Madame Pomfrey was quite furious at that fact, another reason her dietary care was now being looked at more strictly.
Just put one foot in front of the other, and breathe.
May 6, 1998
On what felt like weeks of this routine, meaning only a day or two since Harry and Ron had left, and a few days since the War had actually ended, Hermione found at least a temporary answer to her problems.
Grabbing onto a strong arm as the man she was looking for walked by the greenhouses, Hermione gave a gentle tug. With his confused eyes glancing into her own pain-filled ones, it didn’t take long for him to give in and drag her in the opposite direction that she had originally been coming from.
“I know somewhere we can sit and talk.”
xxx
Sitting on the edge of the ground’s property, Hermione simply stared out at the setting sun before her. A gentle breeze was blowing in the wind, causing the curly hair which had been caught in her sweater to fly freely.
This action caught Blaise’s attention, leaving him with a small smile. “All of us were truly captivated with your hair, you know? Despite what some of us may have said about it, it’s truly unique.”
“What do you mean?”
He cocked his head a bit, deep in thought, “Well, it kind of represents the opposite of you, doesn’t it? Completely unstructured, and wild to the core? Barely containable, and doesn't listen to any rules.” Giving a small chuckle, Blaise reached into his own sweater pockets and pulled out two apples. “Here, I was saving these for later, but I’m quite famished now. Would you like one?”
A small rumble went through Hermione’s stomach, causing her to blush. “Yes, please, can I have the red one?”
Nodding Blaise passed his companion the selected fruit, and the two stared at the setting sun, simply munching on their juicy snack.
After a moment, Blaise leaned back on his arms. “If I fall asleep, remember to wake me. I don’t want one of the creatures from the forest to come out and eat me now. It would be incredibly ironic...survive a war, and pass on by nap.”
Chuckling, Hermione nodded. “Don’t worry, I got your back.”
“Muggle expression?”
“Yes, it means that I’ll look out for you.”
Smiling to himself, Blaise closed his eyes and relaxed into the soft grass which they were sitting on. When he could feel Hermione’s gaze boring a hole into his forehead though, he spoke up.
“Something on your mind?”
Hugging her knees to her chest, Hermione kept her eyes on the sun. “What was it really like, here with the Slytherins this year? I don’t want to assume anything, for the only reference base I have is essentially what Harry, Ron and I went through.”
Blaise sighed, “We lost hope at one point you know, around Yule. There were daily reports at times that you all had been killed by the Death Eaters, and the Carrows loved flaunting the news each time it happened. A lot of us simply thought that this would never look up. Beatings and tortures started happening more frequently, for some that meant Unforgiveable Curses and for others, more awful, unimaginable things. It was a rough go for sure. Us older students, we tried to keep the younger one's suffering from...losing it. We tried to show them that it would be okay. It's hard, when a small First Year is looking up at you to show them that the world is going to be alright, when your own world is practically falling apart at the seams.”
He felt a small hand touch his own, squeezing his larger appendage lightly..
“I’m so sorry,” Hermione whispered. “I’m so sorry it took us so long for the war to end. We didn't want anyone to suffer.” A tear fell from Hermione’s eye, quickly to be wiped away by her thumb.
“What was it like for you? I heard someone mention that you were living essentially anywhere you could find safe dwellings? Usually various forests, right?”
Nodding slowly, Hermione released a breath. “We didn’t eat, many of the nights while we were on the run,” she said quietly. Unsure of how to continue her tale, eventually words just continued flowing freely. Ironically, one of the few things magic cannot magically create...is food from thin air.” Sighing, she closed her eyes briefly before continuing. “I got really good at identifying edible growths that I would find in the forests we sought refuge in. Mostly berries, fungi, nuts and occasionally I would find small mammals.” A pained look came across her face, before going away just as quickly as it arrived.
“The night I was tortured, which I’m sure you heard about from Malfoy-I was prepared to die. I almost gave up. Laying on that cold, horrible floor at the Manor…I didn’t know what was left to live for in this world. It was pain that I never knew imaginable, and the sheer hatred I felt, made me feel lower than garbage. I thought I wouldn't leave that ballroom alive, and that thought still haunts me.”
Squeezing her own hand, Blaise let out a breath.
“You and I are both free now. Remember that.”
Xxx
May 7, 1998
The next day, things continued progressing as they only could in the crazy world that they now called “theirs”. It was exactly a week since the War had ended, and Hermione honestly had no idea how to process that information.
It had been days since the moment that Blaise Zabini and Hermione Granger had sat in the Great Hall together. In that time, they had developed a sort of pattern: In the day, they would help with the repairs of the school, but in the evenings, both students would seclude themselves in the Astronomy Tower, or anywhere quiet that they could find, and simply find peace with themselves. Once or twice, Hermione had tried to join in on the camp fires that still occurred every night, but the joyousness and camaraderie that was happening, struck something deep within herself that she simply wasn’t ready to face yet.
It had been an especially hard Saturday, that day for Hermione though. This was the mark of almost six days since she’d last heard from Harry and Ron. Three letters had gone out to them in that time, and not a single one had been returned. In fact, the final letter had come back attached to the owl she’d borrowed from the school. It had been unread, and untouched. Her heart broke a bit more that day.
Flashbacks kept forming behind her eyes with memories of her final moments with Harry and Ron.
Hasty, rushed goodbyes.
Their promises to all be careful.
Their promises, that everything would be alright.
Their sworn promises, that they would come back to her okay.
Tracking down Blaise, the wild-haired witch broke down into tears in his arms. This was becoming strangely routine, and it hurt to witness. Hermione acknowledged that he wasn’t quite himself though, and Blaise tried his absolute hardest to acknowledge the same from her.
After quickly checking to make sure that no one was watching, Blaise had then lifted the slight-framed girl into his arms and began walking. They had found themselves in the Astronomy Tower then, and they hadn’t left since.
Hermione sat on the edge of the tower, in the far corner of the room, hugging her knees to her chest as she stared at the setting before her. From the view, Hermione could see farther than she ever truly thought possible. It was mesmerizing, but she wasn’t really paying attention. She was very in her head that night. Blaise sat to her left, leaning against the wall, and seemingly staring off into the distance. They were working with the silence, but their silence only lasted so long.
After what felt like a few hours of this wordless comfort, they could hear rushing footsteps coming towards them. Glancing in the direction of the entrance way, they were graced by the sight of an out-of-breath Draco Malfoy, something which Hermione never thought she would see.
“Blaise, there you are! You are one hard bugger to find these days. I can’t find the Advanced Potions text that you said was on your dresser. I was hoping to-“. With eyes wide, he finally acknowledged that his friend was not alone at the top of the tower.
“My apologies,” he said, bowing his head.
Hermione turned away, hiding the flustered expression on her face.
“It’s all right, Draco.” Blaise said. With a quick glance to the brunette on the floor beside him, he placed his hand on the ground and patted it, before turning back to the blonde wizard and quirking an eyebrow.
Despite obvious confusion on his face, Draco complied with the silent request, sitting behind his childhood nemesis, and his lifelong best friend. Settling his frame against the wall closest to the door, and stretching his legs out on the ground before him, Draco mouthed the words, “What is this?”
Tilting his own head towards the Gryffindor before him, Blaise simply mouthed back, “Watch”.
So Draco did. He wasn’t sure why he spent so long silently watching the girl, and on her end, she wasn’t sure why she let him. All either of them knew was that the silence was a welcome change in the turmoil of their lives.
As Blaise was sitting at the wall of the tower, directly beside the edge, Hermione developed an urge to be held again. She knew that there was a dilemma that she would need to face. Hermione could not be held, without coming into close contact with Draco.
Of course, Hermione could simply approach her emotions in a way that didn’t involve relying on others for comfort. She was a big girl. She didn’t need others to help her. It was a sign of weakness to only be able to soothe, when in the presence of Seventh Year Slytherins.
Shut up, Hermione. Her inner voice yelled deeply at her. Just....accept the way things are for now. Don’t run away from help. You need it, and it looks like they might too.
That previously mentioned “help” though, would require her to move forward…and she wasn’t ready for that. But, if she moved Malfoy out of the way in order to hug Zabini, then she would have to be close to the person who saw her be tortured…be tortured without helping her.
“He didn’t tell those awful people that he recognized you, though. He kept you alive. He lied to his family for you!”
“He lied to fucking Bellatrix Lestrange for you!”
After repeating those words to herself enough, Hermione sucked in a breath and got to her feet. Walking towards the two men before her, she gestured for Draco to move over. When he raised one of his perfect blond eyebrows at her, she raised one of her own in return.
Glancing at Blaise for what felt like the millionth time in confusion, the Italian gentleman simply snorted and said, “I wouldn’t argue with her. Think about who we’re talking about here.”
Sighing in compliance, Draco moved his bottom about a foot to his left. When he saw Hermione settle into the place that he had previously occupied, he was momentarily surprised to see Blaise wrap an arm around her, pulling her close. Draco was even more surprised when he noticed Hermione placing her head on Blaise’s shoulder, and closing her eyes.
Had he missed his best friend developing feelings for the one girl that they both had been taught to hate above all else? Had he truly been so caught up in his own internal hell, that he’d missed something as monumental as this!
Seeing the look of content that was forming on the woman beside him, he noticed that she was beginning to shiver from the lowering temperature that occurred nightly in the Scottish countryside. Muttering to himself about women never dressing appropriately for the weather, Draco shrugged off his sweater, placing it on Hermione’s torso.
Well, you were raised a gentleman, Draco. Your mother would hide you with a smile if you didn’t do something.
Ignoring the confused looks that they both sent him, Draco moved his bottom a little closer to them, missing his gifted article of clothing, and relishing in the warmth that Hermione’s body provided.
After them all being silent a moment, Draco let out a cough followed by a whisper, “I am sorry Granger. That night…at my Manor…I am truly sorry.”
With tears beginning to fall from her eyes, Draco feared that he had overstepped. Preparing to jump to his feet and run away, he was incredibly surprised to feel a small hand grasp onto his knee, squeezing tightly to it.
“Thank you,” her hiccuping voice replied just as quietly. “Thank you.”
That’s how they remained: Blaise with his arm around her, Hermione cuddled up to him, and Draco with an incredibly smooth, small hand holding onto his knee. It was very tame, but he found it to be the most important touch that he had received in a very long time.
They ended up staying that way for another hour. Eventually, Hermione’s breathing evened out, and they saw her body go lax.
“She’s asleep,” Blaise whispered.
“No shit,” Draco drawled.
“What do we do?”
“You think I bloody well know? It’s not like this happens to me regularly!” Draco’s face had developed a look of minor terror. It was a weird expression on someone who normally exuded a cool demeanour. “Are we supposed to leave her?”
Blaise rapidly shook his head, “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea. Right now, she’s feeling incredibly alone-Potter and Weasley left her not too long ago. From my understanding, they have yet to speak with her. Leaving her up here, probably would lead to us getting hexed in the morning.”
Draco sighed, “You’re right. Do you happen to know the password to Gryffindor Tower? That’s where she’s living these days, isn’t it?”
Blaise nodded, “Nope.”
“Lovely.”
Blaise looked out at the sky briefly, “It is pretty late. Everyone is probably still finishing in the Great Hall. We might be able to sneak her into our Common Room.” He glanced down at the face of the girl who had felt so few moments of peace in the last few days. He felt like his own troubles were nothing compared to what this young woman had gone through. “I just don’t want her to get embarrassed in case someone sees her entering with us.”
Draco looked down at her, “Is she worth us going to all this trouble, Blaise?”
Blaise didn’t respond for a moment. Gesturing for Draco to stand, the other Slytherin did so. Gathering Hermione into his arms, he passed her off to the blond so that he could stand up himself.
Never once in this exchange did she awaken.
She must be exhausted.
“She helped save all of us,” Blaise said when he got to his feet. “When you were forced to leave with your parents, and I was forced to go through the tunnel, she was still here fighting, even after living through the torture of your aunt, and I’m assuming some sort of starvation if her appearance and what she’s told me, is anything to go on. I regret every day that I wasn’t here in the end to make the right choice, and I know a part of you does as well. Granger here though, never faulted, and never turned her back on Hogwarts.”
He brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face before holding his own arms out, awaiting her weight to be passed to him.
Draco surprised him by shaking his head, adjusting his hold on the girl so that more securely rested in his arms. “It’s okay, I got her.” Gazing at the woman he held, he truly stole a look at her. Years of prejudice had been thrust upon him, despite how hard he truly tried to fight against it. Holding the small woman now, he couldn't deny how “human” Hermione Granger truly was.
Nodding, Blaise led the way towards the staircase. “She helped save us. I don’t have to like her in a romantic way to know that I feel some form of gratitude towards what she did-and you should as well.”
Draco looked down at the sleeping woman. From Blaise’s spot some three feet in front of him, he missed the whispered response of, “I do-I do and I’m starting to accept that.”
xxx
It took them nearly twenty minutes to reach the Slytherin Common Room. At that time, surprisingly, no one walked by them. It saved the hassle of having to explain their current situation.
What even was their…situation?
Walking up to the wall that housed the entrance to their Common Room, Blaise walked forward. “Password,” an aged, and water-worn portrait of an elderly witch requested.
“Freedom.”
The brick wall before them swung open, revealing the entrance of the beautiful room inside. A fireplace crackled in the furthest corner, warming the coldest residence in the castle. A small chess board sat between the entrance to both the male, and female dormitories. Judging from the position of one of the black pawns and the white queen, no one had touched the set since Blaise and Draco left it that morning for breakfast.
“There’s only a few of us,” Blaise said. “So we shouldn’t have to worry about anyone finding her. It isn’t like any of our old dorm mates stayed.”
“Good point,” Draco agreed, quickly walking towards the staircase that led towards the male dormitories.
Approaching their sleeping area, Draco walked towards his bed and laid her down. “Pass me that blanket you mom knitted,” Draco muttered.
Immediately, a green blanket found its way thrown in the direction of his head.
“Thanks.”
“Welcome.”
“Think she’s going to think we did something to her?”
Blaise shook his head, “Nah, we should be okay.”
“You two can live,” they heard the muffled reply come from the blond man’s bed. Jumping slightly, both teenagers angled themselves so that they could see one bleary brown eye staring at them.
“Can you two come back here though, I’m really cold.” She whispered, blushing. “These dungeons are freezing.”
“Well, damn, Granger,” Draco said, kicking off his shoes. “Way to be a flirt.” He moved to the side of the bed, directly beside the wall. Placing a pile of pillow’s behind his head, he sat up beside her laid-down form. A boney elbow to his abdomen was his response.
“Oi!”
“Oh, relax Draco,” Blaise said with a smirk, moving his body to the other side of Hermione. Positioning some pillows in the same method as Draco, he allowed Hermione to curl into his side again.
“Thank you…both of you.” She said softly, her eyes still heavy with sleep. “I take it, that I fell asleep in the tower?’
“Yeah, we didn’t want to leave you up there by yourself. We brought you down to our dormitory, as neither Draco nor I knew your password.”
Hermione smiled at Blaise in thanks. “I know that this goes against the way I should be feeling and thinking…and that I should probably be seasoned to hate you beyond contempt…but I just don’t have any hate left in me anymore. After everything that happened, I just can’t hate the people who are offering me peace. You two are currently offering me that very peace, and I am very, very thankful.”
“Well, the way I see it, Granger,” Blaise said softly. “We have known each other for seven years now. While we may have been wrongly hating each other throughout that time, it’s also allowed for us to get to know each other-at least in a simple way.”
She nodded slowly.
“Yeah,” Draco replied. “Blaise never would harm a soul-at least not truly. He reads too many fiction novels about heroes that save the day in the end. It’s very un-Slytherin of him.”
“And Draco was just a sodding idiot through puberty.”
“Hey!”
“It’s mildly accurate.” Hermione stated, smiling softly.
He poked her in the ribs, causing another smile to form on her face, this one laced more deeply with sleep. “Get some rest Granger, we can see if this camaraderie survives until morning.”
“Goodnight, Blaise.” She said softly. “Goodnight, Draco.”
With shocked eyes, they watched her fall asleep.
Staring at his friend, Blaise cocked his head. “Are we just replacing Potter and Weasley?” He mouthed to the blond.
Draco shrugged. “ It’s possible,” he mouthed back. Whispering, he commented, “They kind of just did up and left her though, Aurors be damned. I mean, we all are allowed to move on. But they LEFT her. I heard one of the third years talk about it a few hours after the dimwits left the school. Apparently the farewell was quite…without feeling, if you would. And if she’s been relying on them, and them of her for the better part of a year, Granger here is probably going through a lot.”
Sighing, and gently removing themselves from the bed, Blaise lifted his pillows that had previously been behind his head, and positioned them beside Hermione’s body. Removing a blanket from the bed beside his own, he used it to cover Hermione’s small frame as well.
“There,” he stated, brushing imaginary dust from his hands. “Let’s see what happens in the morning. Two sickles say we’re in for an interesting adventure.”
Draco nodded, glancing at the witch currently residing on his bed, “You’re on.”
It was several hours until screams woke both young men from their own slumbers.
Xxx