𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 | Dramione

Chapter 4

September 19 1999

what a shame
the girl who once believed in fairy tales and magic,
in a world so black and white,
where good would always conquer evil,
had to be struck by reality with demons in her mind
and the fear of never being okay again.

~

Hermione lay awake staring at the ceiling. Crookshanks was curled up at the base of the bed. The sound of trickling rain on the window usually calmed her but the burning sensation in her arm fixed her attention tonight. The only thing that could temporarily soothe her pain was an ice bath. Some whiskey would be nice too. Temporary fixes were all she had.

The tap turned with a squeak, running her fingers through the icy water. As the bathtub filled, she conjured ice cubes into the basin with the flick of her wand and lowered herself into it. Goosebumps formed everywhere, lining the edges of her skin screaming for some warmth. The water was glacial and their silent screams were overcome by the sharp breaths she let out as her skin came into contact with the water.

Everything was quiet. She stayed for fifteen minutes, maximizing the time of her relief until she could barely feel her fingertips and her lips turned blue.

Hermione curled up under the covers as she buried herself under the blankets, shivering until her body eventually unstiffened and succumbed to sleep.

The next morning she woke to find her arm numb and her skin a pigmented purple-blue. Her muscles ached with every step.

Hermione had probably slept a total of three hours. She was used to it, the nightmares would never allow for one full, uninterrupted night of sleep. After all, there was only so many Dreamless sleep potions she could take without getting addicted. 

The chatter from the dining hall rung loud in her ears as her eyes adjusted to the bright lights.

"Hey where have you been?" asked Harry eagerly.

If she hadn't been so focused on finding Malfoy in the crowded room, Hermione probably would have noticed the lot of Gryffindors swarming around her.

"Oh just some catching up at the library—"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY HERMIONE!" they all shouted in unison.

Students from other tables shifted their gaze to the commotion. Draco turned to face her from the Slytherin table, his eyes narrowing in her direction. 

"You didn't think we'd forget your birthday, did you?" said Ron with a cheerful smile.

No, but Hermione certainly had. How could she have forgotten her own birthday? She blamed it on her lack of sleep but it wasn't that simple. It was everything. The war had taken away pieces of her. James, Lily, Sirius, Dumbledore, Cedric, Remus, Tonks, Mad-eye, Fred, Dobby, Snape. They were all gone. Dead. And yet everyone seemed so fine with their absence.

Her head pounded.

"Of course not, Ronald. Thank you everyone, I really can't tell you how much I appreciate you all," she finally answered, looking up at all the familiar faces.

The cake was white with periwinkle coloured frosting; her favourite. It was the same colour as her dress the night of the Yule Ball.

"Did you make this yourself?" she asked the group.

"I ruined the first two," George confessed.

"I knew we couldn't trust him!" Ron elbowed Harry.

"Don't get your kickers in a twist Ronny, third times a charm, see?" George pointed at his perfect cake, grinning from ear to ear.

Hermione's eyes met Draco's again. His expression never wavered, always so stern and aristocratic. But in that moment she saw something. Pain? She couldn't really tell.

Perhaps the sight of her surrounded by people who cared for her—who loved her—rubbed off on him. It dawned on her that he was sitting quite far from the rest of the Slytherins. Funny, even they couldn't stand him.

If only her friends knew how much she couldn't stand to be there in that moment. They never would, though. Gryffindor's princess Hermione Granger isn't spiteful or hateful. She fought against Voldemort. She was perfect at everything—the brightest witch of her age.

All this unwanted attention scrambled her brain. She couldn't think straight, let alone remember the date of her own birthday without a dreamless sleep potion or a calming drought—hell even, a shot of whiskey.

Her leg was bouncing up and down.

As everybody served themselves to cake, Hermione hadn't realized she was staring blankly ahead. Luna tugged at the sleeve of her sweater, snapping her out of reverie.

"Are you okay Hermione? You seem a bit distant," she asked.

"Oh—yes Luna—I was just erm, thinking about my parents," she lied.

She actually tried not to think about them. It hurt too much. Hermione had not thought about her parents ever since the day passed when reversal for the obliviate charm expired— two years ago.

She wanted to get out. To stop faking the smile. It was exhausting, she was exhausted.

"It must be hard missing them. If you'd like to talk about it, I'm always here to listen," she spoke with her angelic voice.

Hermione nodded her head absently, not having heard much of what she was saying. 

"Is there something else bothering you?" Luna asked.

Her friend knew her well. Perhaps it was just her sixth sense but Luna saw through the wall she worked so hard to build and maintain.

She wanted to talk about it. Everything that was weighing her down. Damn it. She wanted to scream. She wanted to yell. She wanted to shout about it. But all Hermione could do was whisper,
"I'm fine."

She looked back up to realize Draco had been staring at her all this time. His jaw was clenched— gritting his teeth at the sight of her, no doubt.

Hermione relished at the thought of him hating her. It was nice— comfortable even— the one constant in her life she could rely on. And the spiteful nature of their relationship made her giddy. She didn't have to pretend around him nor sugarcoat anything. She could be the hateful, self-sacrificial martyr and not have to feel bad about it. Without being pitied.

She walked back to the dormitory hoping to gather some more clothes for the week. Footsteps approached closely behind her and he beat her to the door. Of course. His large frame towered over her as he stood in front of her, blocking the entry.

"I don't have time for this Malfoy. Sod off."

"You know Granger, I'd think you'd be nicer with me given the extent of my kindness," he said, curling his mouth into a crooked smirk.

"Your kindness?" Hermione scoffed. "You have nothing over me Malfoy. I could easily have you reported for using your magic outside of class the other day," she taunted. "And from what I understand, you're on strict rules from the ministry so—"

"Go ahead. I'd rather be anywhere else than in this hell hole," he spat.

She slumped her shoulders back in defeat. Nothing got through his walls of defence, not even the possibility of being expelled from the only place that felt somewhat like home. He laughed.

"You hate this place so much you fancied pitching yourself off the tower was a good idea?" she asked, raising her gaze to his.

Draco advanced his body, his eyes stone cold and his face grew hot with anger. "What did I tell you about minding your own fucking business?"

She felt his cold breath graze her face. Hermione let out a huff.

"Don't worry your pretty little head Granger, I'll keep my end of the bargain," he said, looking at her arm, grinning.

Before she could respond, he was already walking away. She whispered the password and slipped inside. 

Her bed was made, the wine coloured sheets lay perfectly next to her untouched dresser. She gathered some clothes for the week and took the rest of the books she had left lying around, before she moved into the room of requirement. Hermione took a final glance before leaving the common room, reminiscing about all the memories they had shared with each other. What happened to her?