Scars That Heal (Dramione Fanfiction) [COMPLETE]

10 - Relapse and Rematch

*Trigger Warning - Self-Harm, Descriptions of Self-Harm Scars*

Shattered glass pricking at her back, cutting against stained, papery skin...
No, I am brave, thought Hermione, struggling against the thoughts.
Ripping flesh, Mudblood bleeding over the wooden floorboards... Weak, weak, foolish Mudblood...
But I'm brave! Hermione thought desperately.
A shining blade, ancient in looks and older still in purpose. Laughing, laughing at the stupid Mudblood. Splattered scarlet all over the floor, drenching the pathetic Mudblood in her own filth.
I'm not worthless, though! Hermione clung onto her sudden bravery, but she was more and more terrified with each second that passed.
The blade cuts into her arm, searing pain, more laughing, more blood, more Mudblood... More tears, more pain, more pleasure for the laughing woman in black robes...

Finally breathing again, Hermione woke up. It wasn't quite the jarring jump that normally forced her out of her dream, but more like breaking the surface of water after a long time below. She was sweaty and tearstained as she had been in her dream, but there was a strange air of calm about her. She sat up and rubbed her arms as she shivered against the cool air, and picked up her second psychology book. Hermione walked to the Tower anyway, because that was the thing she did when she had the dream, even if - for once - it hadn't affected her so much.

When she opened the trapdoor, Hermione was met with the sight of Malfoy shaking the box, listening to the knife sliding around inside it. He turned around sheepishly, and put it back on the shelf.

"I thought you said you were going to stop," she said, placing her book on the table and walking over to him.

"Oh, don't sound like you care!" he retorted. "Just give me the knife. Please."

"Let me see your arm first."

"No."

"Why?"

"I don't want you to."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want you to."

"Why don't you want me to?" Hermione persisted.

"Because I'm ashamed!" Malfoy exploded, his cheeks staining red. "I'm ashamed of what I am, what I do, and I'm ashamed of my mark and my scars. Don't try to pretend you care. Just give me the knife and I'll go."

Hermione stood and looked at him, one eyebrow raised just slightly. Malfoy huffed, and pulled out his wand.

"Accio knife," he summoned, but the only thing that moved was an old letter opener that lay on the table at the back of the room. It whizzed past Malfoy's ear and buried its blade in the wooden beam above his head.

"That was dangerous," Hermione remarked. There was a pause.

"Fine," Malfoy relented with a humiliated huff. Pulling up his sleeve, he presented his arm to Hermione. She looked at the pale skin, looking at the thin white lines that crossed the Mark. They didn't blot it out, only seemed to blur the edges. But none of them were red, or sore-looking.

"When was the last time you cut?"

"The last time was nearly two weeks ago." Hermione looked at him and smiled thinly.

"So you haven't cut for a fortnight?"

"I really want to, though. Please, I hate having to beg for anything, Granger, let me." Malfoy looked like he was on the verge of tears. It made his thin, drawn face swim in hues of grey and white, and Hermione didn't like the amount of control she had over him. It was wrong. When someone hated themselves, you couldn't force them to accept it. They had to learn to.