Blade Of War (Dramione)

Chapter 16

She's disheveled in a sense where she can't get shut eye.

Malfoy left off their last exchange of words at a rapid pace of foot, just like he always did. Leaving Hermione in nothing but question. It's been a few days since she's seen him last, but his hand to his wound still lives on in her head. She almost liked the fact that it was her doing, but by the way he looked, he wasn't In bliss at her own bloodshed.

Guilt crept its way, but she didn't let it take a toll.

She'd figure he'd be striding with anything but urgency, yet when a snip of her skin shed he was there, bandage in hand. It wasn't like he had a choice, he needed her in good shape.

Yes, that was all Hermione, orders. 

Her dreams don't help. They are always unpleasant, constantly proposing, tossing and turning, she can't decipher what's in her head, and what she's actually lived. Occasionally they would include memories, ones that weren't partically detrimental to her, yet moments where she felt something distasteful. 

Malfoy seemed to be the topic for one night.

She remembers it vividly back at Hogwarts, a moment where she believes she sees Malfoy's real aggravating side. Perhaps it was his lack of morals--or her high standing ones. 

He was trying to sneak out of school and used the imperious curse on one of the professors. It was a rather cruel curse to utilize--yet of course he did it quick and swift. She watched the scenario play out, and peeked behind the stone, yet his eyes weren't on the professor he cursed, yet rather glued to hers. She didn't speak a word about it since.

It almost reminded her that he was second in their class. A cruel man, with a smart head. She hated to admit it, yet he never seemed to live it down.

Too grim for his own good.

Other nights she'd have somewhat cloudy visuals of what she believed to be all in her head. Harry--Ron and her running in the woods was all she remembered. She didn't have all her memories, in which she couldn't say if her dreams were lies or tales, but they did in fact keep happening. She almost feels guilt run through her veins, at Harry's look whenever he appeared in her dream, they were never pleasant. He lost that spark of light in eyes when they were on the battlefield knowing they had failed. 

Those dreams kept her up day by day. She almost feared someone would hear her slight shrieks in the midst of nights. Malfoy always seemed to hear her blood hit the floor--he was always there when her skin scraped. Who's to say he wasn't always around.

She remembers having night terrors when she first came to the manor. They were entirely awful, yet nothing in comparison to her current ones. Now she's rather used to her environment, which would explain her reduce of panic attacks. She still hates it. Or maybe she hates who lives in it.

Maybe his name was what triggered a sense of panic. It was Malfoy to her, and Granger to him. His first name would bother her--hence why she never said it. It felt entirely wrong. It would be eerie to the the tongue.

Last name bases were all they used, it was fitting for their personas. She'd say it in one of their staggering arguments and the look in his eyes after he asked if she hates him should almost have satisfied her. Yet when the emotion flickers from his face its anger for merely a second, then  almost a wicked grin when she confirms his question. He asked if she believed him to be foul, she took a stride to yes. She takes a closer look and his eyes almost reflect hurt. As if she's just wounded his ego.

She had every right to, of course she did--Malfoy already had too much of a large ego for his own good.

It still was rather tampered with after war.