Awake

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This is a bit of a shorty -- I'm keeping each chapter to a single point of view, so word counts will vary. Most of this story is presented through Draco's eyes, but we do get some Hermione POV, too.

Also, be aware that this story moves slooooowly in time. There's a Scheherazade and "One Thousand And One Nights" quality to this tale as the situation plays out.

Finally, this Hermione chapter is dedicated to all you insomniacs out there.


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Where did you get this sword? Where?"

Fingers grip her hair, forcing her head back.

"We found it!"

"ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"

"Draco, fetch the goblin." Lucius.

The carving begins, deep, almost to the bone,

She stares into silver eyes ...

Hermione popped up in bed, panting and shivering. Thank Merlin for silencing wards. Night after night the terrors came, always the same scene at Malfoy Manor. But each night spotlighted a different person: Bellatrix convulsed by madness, Narcissa's pale distaste, Greyback eager and slavering, Lucius' face pink with excitement.

And far worst of all, tonight brought Draco Malfoy's wide, frightened eyes. Her Slytherin classmate should have been sneering that day, triumphant, wand at the ready to join in. She could have held onto that image, pretended it was another schoolyard confrontation.

But Draco silent in that drawing room, Draco shaking, Draco horrorstruck—well, there you had it. Hermione was sure she wouldn't leave that manor alive.

Stop.

Hermione reached for the towel and bowl of water she now kept nearby. She washed her face and neck, lifting sweaty curls with one hand and dripping cold water on her left forearm. Then she whisked the bowl and pitcher away with a flick of wandless magic.

Clutching a pillow, she whispered her mantra:

It's alright.

You're safe.

Ron came.

Harry came.

Dobby came.

A cottage by the sea.

Breathe.

She wished it was enough to allow her to sleep. After all, she'd been fine at the Burrow and then alone in her parents' house this summer. But since returning to Hogwarts she'd been stumbling through her days, eating by rote, glamouring the shadows under her eyes. Sleepwalking.

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