Isolation

Chapter 3: Doors

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She woke too quickly.

Her eyes snapped open and went wide, darting nervously around her room. She sucked in a short gasp and covered her face with her palms; blinking away her sleep and gulping back her dry throat. She felt disorientated and muddled, like an imp had skipped through the caverns of her mind and fiddled with her thoughts. She rubbed away the cold sweat on her forehead and sat up, looking around her room and ensuring that everything was where it should be.

Her nightmares had been so vivid recently.

She couldn't for the life of her decide if last night had been a trick of her subconscious or if everything had been real. Perhaps there'd been no Snape. No Malfoy. No secret. Maybe she was still the sole inhabitant of her dorm. Maybe. Her tired gaze fell to the rope burns on her arms and she exhaled a disappointed sigh. She'd wanted so bad for it to be a dream; so willing to delude herself. Call it the brain's defence mechanisms or call it hope. Hell, call it whatever you wanted; the fact of the matter was, it hadn't been a nightmare.

It made her feel sick. She could actually feel the contents of her stomach churn as she contemplated just how close he was. Just her small bathroom between them. Just two walls.

She glanced at her clock and wanted to scream when she realised she'd only managed three hours sleep. Hermione had honestly thought that she would have managed to gain a little more rest considering how exhausted she'd been. But no. Evidently, her insomnia was here to stay. Joy.

It was pushing nine in the already miserable morning, and she could already hear the usual raindrops tapping against her window. She knew that it was futile to try and get any more sleep, so she slowly eased herself out of bed, grabbed her bathrobe and wand, and headed for the shower. Keeping as quiet as she could, she peered out of her bedroom warily, catching sight of Malfoy's discarded and scuffed shoes.

The remains of her optimism fluttered away with that final damning observation, and she quickly slipped into the bathroom.

Shrugging off yesterday's clothes, she muttered a quick spell to flick on the shower at a high heat. The witch turned to look at herself in the mirror, brushing her knotted curls away from her face and fingering the shadowy crescents under her eyes. There was too much torture on her face, and it was tucked into the creases of her permanent frown. She looked like a tracing-paper version of herself; paler and almost translucent. Like frosted glass.

She focussed on her eyes and thanked Merlin when she saw the familiar glint in them, the spark of fire and determination that had always lingered; that had yet to be beaten.

She was fine. Just tired and wondering exactly how she was supposed to coexist with Malfoy.

The mirror started to steam so she turned away from her worrying reflection and released a content moan as the steamy water soothed her shape. She closed her eyes and massaged the soap into her skin, inhaling the vanilla scent with a calming breath. She lathered her arms first, then her shapely chest and flat stomach, and then bent down to stroke the length of her legs.

This felt good. Like normality, and she basked in the sensations. She could feel her muscles easing and it was wonderful, relaxing enough that she allowed her ever-crowded mind to cease thinking, if only to shield the memories of last night. If only to forget that someone she despised was sharing her dorm. A Death Eater.