Scars That Heal (Dramione Fanfiction) [COMPLETE]

2 - Nightmares, Daydreams

A long, silver knife... No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Mudblood... You're weak. You have nothing. You deserve nothing. You are just a weak Mudblood. Oak-panelled walls, a silver knife, a red ribbon of blood... Mudblood seeping from her arm... Weak, weak, irrational Hermione... Never go. Always stay, always stay in this house, always suffer as everyone else did when you survived with no more than a scar that can never heal over, that will always tell you what you are. Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudb--

Gasping for breath, Hermione woke up. Her curtains were drawn around her four-poster bed, but it was stifling... too hot, too hot... Sticky sweat ran down her back, and tearstains were wet on her cheeks and hands. Her breath was too fast again... Calm, calm, Hermione... Her blanket was caught around her legs, snaring her in the dark depths of her dream.

Get out, was all her head told her.

She stood up, trying not to let her legs shake, and opened the curtain. The clock on the wall told her it was quarter past twelve; too early to try to sleep, too late to be awake. Avoiding the creaky floorboard near Luna's bed, Hermione slipped out of the door, not even bothering with her slippers. The common room was completely empty, bar a single house-elf who was putting out the fire. It gave a small squeak, and hid as she walked past. Hermione's mind was blank. Her legs were just moving, moving to try to get out of that terrible dream. She saw the suits of armour, and the sleeping portraits, and she carried on walking. Then up the steps to the empty tower. Hermione's Tower.

She had noticed it on the Marauder's Map many years ago, but never told Harry or Ron; when it was too warm to think straight, Hermione had often gone there to revise before exams. It was an old classroom, large enough to hold a small group of students, and filled with shelves of bottles and jars, books and parchment... And a circular porthole window that looked out onto the lake. Some nights she could see bubbles rising on the surface from the giant squid as he slept. A nice quiet spot, where she could calm down, not let the dream come again. It only attacked some nights; never more than four nights in a row, never quite a week in between. It would attack, let her recover for a night or two, maybe, then strike again, and again, and again... She hated sleep. Hermione never slept for longer than she had to, or the dream would come again. One night it had repeated itself three times before she could stop and calm herself down again.

She lifted the latch, and climbed in to see not a dark, empty room, but a well-lit hide-out, where there, sat in the corner, was --

"Malfoy!" she exclaimed, just loud enough to startle him. He sat upright with a jump. Hermione swung herself into the room and walked over to him, hands on her hips. "What are you doing here?" Malfoy had regained some of his composure, and was starting to give her the "Mudblood-glare" he reserved only for her.

"What are you doing here, more like," he replied quickly. "You're Head Girl now; no more sneaking around after dark, Granger, or you'll be setting a bad example." Hermione gave a small huff of disgust and looked at him. Just like her, he had clearly disturbed himself from sleep: his normally sleek hair was tousled and stuck up at the front in a humorous tuft, and he was wearing a pair of creased pyjamas. The cuff of one trouser leg was partially folded up, and he glared at her as she realised she had been caught staring.

"I'm not perfect, Malfoy, and I don't pretend to be," she said tartly, with as much defiance as she could muster. The dream was still impeding her mind, and she felt twice as vulnerable with Malfoy in her tower.

"So why are you here?" he asked again, with less scorn in his voice than before. "I'll let you stay if you'll tell me."

"Like I want to stay here now you have access to my secret tower."