A Safe, Devoted Darkness

Chapter 1

Full list of tags/warnings for this fic: Body Horror, Erotic Horror, Gore, Pain, Unreliable Narrator, Explicit Sex, Explicit Language, Post-War, Epilogue What Epilogue, Ministry of Magic employee Hermione Granger, romance, suspense, mystery, angst, morally grey, mildly dubious consent, 

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Hermione did not have black eyes.

They should be brown. A warm, rich colour.

Her eyes in the mirror were wrong.

"My eyes are not black."

She said it aloud, thinking if she stated it firmly enough, they'd return to their usual hue.

But her eyes gazed back in a depthless, dark black. The colour of something never ending; infinite in its fathomless darkness. Nothing to separate the pupil, iris, and sclera.

Hermione leaned in closer to the mirror.

"No. My eyes are not black."

She reached up one hand to gently touch her reflection. "They're not. They're brown. I don't want them to be black."

She blinked.

Her face in the mirror showed a woman with ordinary, brown eyes. Hermione splashed cold water on her face and finished her morning pre-work routine. Surely the odd sight in the mirror had just been a holdover from a dream?

Yes, not being fully awake would shoulder the blame for her temporary hallucination.

She couldn't remember when Draco Malfoy became a part of her morning routine. But there he stood, each day, as if waiting for her.

As Hermione shot out of the Floo and into the Ministry Atrium, she immediately clocked the tall, leaning form dressed head to toe in black from across the polished floors.

It was sort of funny, she mused, how she saw him more than her own friends.

Monday she had dinner with Harry and Ginny. Tuesday with Ron and Susan. Wednesday, at her parents. Thursday was for herself. Fridays were girls' nights with Ginny, Susan, and Luna. Then on the weekends she caught up on reading.

And Monday through Friday, she saw Malfoy standing in the Atrium.

Hermione gave him a curt nod of acknowledgement which he routinely interpreted as permission to abandon his post and approach her.

"Good morning to you, Granger."

"Malfoy."

"That's it for a greeting? Just a surname?"

"Was there something else you were expecting?"

"Oh I don't know, something a little more befitting your reputation for brilliance, perhaps?"

"Goodbye Malfoy."

"Have a pleasant and productive work day Granger."

Every morning interaction ended with him left standing in the Atrium while she went onward to her office.

There were cracks in her skin today. Little discoloured lines along the backs of her hands. She could possibly pluck them apart, separate the skin, spread the gulfs wider and see how big she could make them before her hand just split in two. Part of her wanted to poke and prod and peel and see how deep into her epidermis she could go before her pain receptors flared to life.

Hermione peered closer, intent on decoding this change. It wasn't quite scabby, nor did it itch like scabs, but like a child told not to pick at them, it was all she longed to do.