poison ✞ dramione

part thirteen

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hermione knew the second she saw it, she wouldn't be able to forget. if any proof that her theories were correct came to light she didn't know what she'd do. however the proof came to light but it was completely accidental.

she had left her wand in the bathroom just after she finished her shower. so, thinking it was empty, she walked in without knocking.

draco stood in nothing but his pyjama pants. he was poking at a rapidly forming bruise on his chest—just under his ribs, in fact. even though she couldn't see his back hermione could see some scars on his side—some thin and white, others thick, jagged and... new. but that isn't possible. they haven't laid a hand on him.

unless... maybe they were forming because back when draco was really six, when he was the precise age he is now back in the eighties, these marks are what his father had been inflicting and they were appearing on his body because—because he's been reverted back to his younger self with his younger selves memories and...

"draco," she gasped, quickly falling to her knees in front of him. his head snapped up to her and his eyes widened, suddenly afriad. "draco..."

she reached out to hold him, but he stepped away just as quickly as she fell to her knees. "don't touch me!" he cried, searching for his grey shirt.

hermione felt the tears well up in her eyes. so she was correct, huh? she didn't need confirmation to know that it was lucius malfoy doing all this. well, did do all of this. did he still do it up until lucius killed himself? did draco silently put up with it—maybe it's why he's so untrusting. the person he's supposed to trust unconditionally hurt him—but why?

"your father did this," hermione stated. "how long has he been doing this, draco?"

"fathers not here," draco suddenly defended, finding his shirt. "he can't have done it. they just... appeared."

"you haven't answered my question, draco," hermione whispered, reaching out to touch him. he flinched away again.

"fathers just... sad. he doesn't mean to!" draco expressed, pulling the shirt over his head. it was dark grey and full sleeved, hiding all his scars. "and it stops him from touching hyperion!"

hermione just wanted to cry. it was obvious draco didn't do it enough and—she was raised in a loving environment. the thought of parents abusing their children never crossed her mind because, in her personal experience, she'd never come across a family like that. however he's draco malfoy, someone she's known for seven, almost eight years and it turns out he's been abused for half his life. it must have been terrible if it turned him into the careless being he is at eighteen.

"draco, sweetheart," she started slowly, hoping harry was here to help her. "your father... he hurts you. you can't defend him. why does he do it?"

"he's sad," draco repeated harshly. "ever since mother died—he's been sad. he's sad because she's gone and he's sad because i couldn't protect her."

"you were there?" hermione gasped. did he really watch his mother die?

draco nodded slowly. "we were at diagon alley. we were pulled into an alleyway. they knocked me out so i didn't see much and i woke up in st mungos two days later. i should have been stronger than that and mother would have lived."

hermione shook her head. "you couldn't have done anything, draco. it's your fathers fault. he shouldn't—he shouldn't take it out on you. no matter the circumstances. why don't you tell anyone?"

draco looked down at his feet. "father says... he says he'll hurt hyperion if i tell anyone."

"your father can't hurt you anymore," she assured him, gently holding onto draco. "do those scars and bruises hurt?"