Lies, Buried and Bound - A Dramione Story

Part One

Hermione Granger hadn't meant to completely cut off all ties with Harry or the Weasley family. She simply couldn't bear to see them look upon her sad little life with a disappointed shake of their heads. She couldn't bear the thought that just maybe they could see through her smiles, feigned laughter at trivial matters, and her half-witted excuses as to why she couldn't spend time with them.

She thought about these things as she dipped one toe into the bathtub and hugged her knee, sitting on the lip of the basin.

The lies couldn't hold up forever, and she knew this, regardless of how badly she wished they would lay buried six feet underground. So why was she still trying?

Hermione lowered herself into the steaming water. The heat's effect on her was terribly obvious and her skin prickled with fresh goosebumps. She couldn't think of the last time she'd allowed herself such a soothing privilege. Time was precious these days and she always felt that she had more pressing concerns than her own self-care.

Holding her breath, sank into the warm bath water.

Hermione reflected on the irrefutable fact that there had been four key moments that brought her here, sinking in a bathtub of hot water.

—

The first was a very sentimental time in her life when she felt she offered no true use to the world outside of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Their friendship, no matter how grateful she was for it, is what solely defined her.

She was with the Golden Trio. Harry Potter's best friend.

One particular night, Ronald was playing tonsil tennis with Lavender at just about every corner and it hurt her in her stomach and her heart. She'd run into them more times than she could count, and to some degree, it made her feel like they were flaunting their relationship just to spite her.

It was a chilly November night and stars peppered the black sky. And although the castle glowed with warm candles and pleasant people, she couldn't find the strength in her to feel a flicker of joy.

So she sat just outside the clock tower courtyard by herself, her back against the marvellous stone, and her feet curled up to her chest. Undoubtedly, she was jittering like a wind-up toy, but the frigid air funnelled all her stressors into one simple word: cold. Out here she could forget about everything.

The light shuffle of feet brushing against the ground stirred her into toppling frustration. She looked over her shoulder, past the dead ivy to see the silhouette of a boy with a bundle held at his side.

"Go away, Harry," she called out, rolling her eyes. "I'm fine. And I don't want to talk about it."

"Clearly you're not 'fine,' and I'm not interested in whatever it is you need to vent about." It was not Harry's voice that responded. It was as unmistakable as it was snarky and filled with an air of confidence that was not easily ignored.

The soft glow of candlelight from within the castle and the courtyard illuminated pale skin and a sharp face.

Draco Malfoy walked around her crumpled body and slid down the stone beside her. She watched with bated breath as if he might offer any explanation about his presence.

Only, he was waiting for her to ask.

He would wait a while.

She'd never so much as shared the same space as him, let alone had the burden to sit next to him long enough to hold any type of civilised conversation. She unapologetically and rudely gaped at him.

"What? You're not the only one who comes here when it's been a long day." He situated himself beside her and stretched out his legs. "I've seen you around here a bit more these days, only this time I felt like joining in. Your pathetic sob story might actually make me feel better about myself, y'know."