He could claim things have a tendency to just happen in life and absolve himself of all responsibility. The war, the things he'd done to protect his family, this, with her. But he's not a young boy anymore. He can't simply flick his wand and sweep all the things he dislikes under the rug (or rely on his father to do so).
Draco thought he hated her. Still thinks he does, on some days. She's loud, annoying, too quick to remind others of her limitless knowledge. She's also kind, gentle, and loyal towards those she cares for. She's a conundrum to someone like him--especially when she'd extended this... kinder side toward him. He'd thought Hermione had an ulterior motive at first. She must have. Why would she want to associate with him after the war?
Their thirst for and enjoyment of broadening their minds with knowledge is what eventually allowed them to settle on the same level, developing an easy camaraderie once he'd overcome his suspicions of her motives. And then it simply snowballed from there.
Nightmares were a constant companion for Draco when Voldemort rose once more to power and his aunt Bella and the other Death Eaters began to use his family home as their base of operations. He'd seen and heard things... done things... things that keep him up at night. Like tonight. Or today. He sits on the mattress, hunched over his knees, staring off ahead. Not quite seeing anything, just remembering.
She has her own nightmares to contend with as well, so he'd been careful to remain silent, not rustling the sheets when he'd moved. Once he'd fallen into that zombie-like state, there'd been no moving. Not even when the sun began to peep through the windows, brightening the room. Not even when the sounds of daytime began to echo through the flat. Not even when a soft, summer breeze swept its way through the space.
The thing was that Hermione could argue that she has no reason to be here - she could be anywhere else in the world. After the war all the paths were open to her and all the routes and things she had dreamed of were right there waiting for her, and she could've gone after them and taken them all if she had really wanted to. Really, she had, too; she had claimed so much of it, found a job and a house and a career that she wanted, doing the things she wanted to do, without the fear of the reaper breathing down her neck.
She had never imagined that she would stumble into anything like this, not really. She had never dreamed that she would end up sharing anything with Draco Malfoy. She hadn't even considered it until they'd somehow stumbled into something with one another and now... Now she's here, dozing in his bed, warm and comfortable and happy in a way she hasn't been in a very long time.
Waking up now is a little strange, her eyesight a touch fuzzy as she lifts a hand to rub at the dryness there. Her dreams were clear and without nightmares for once and she basks in it even as she knows that this isn't what she was looking for. She hadn't woken up because of her own demons but because of someone else's, and she shifts as she moves forward, raising her body up and letting herself blink in the barely-there light of the room.
Draco is there, and he is suffering. She can't feel the bed shaking from his movements but that's okay - she doesn't need to. Hermione doesn't need anything else but herself and her own knowledge to understand that the person she crawled into bed with needs her help and support, and that's the only thing on her mind right now. Nothing else matters and nothing else is as important to this - not sleep or preparing for her day or getting out of bed. Nothing but Draco.
Careful, she moves and wraps her arms around him from behind, her legs sliding down to either side of his body. Her fingers brush over his stomach, flat against the fabric of his shirt, and when she speaks her voice is soft and low, gentle and careful.
No, he doesn't want to talk about it, he nearly snarls when her voice breaks the silence. He doesn't want to bloody think about the nightmares or their cause. He doesn't want any of that history rearing itself, or for her to learn more about it. To learn more about how useless he'd been when Voldemort was in power.
It's a near-instant reaction, that defensiveness. Honed to perfection over so many years. A default setting in him he's actively tried to push aside--especially when around her. It's one that nearly gets the best of him now.... until he notices the arms wrapped around his middle. The legs framing his. The hand pressing lightly to his stomach, stroking fabric and, to a lesser extent, him. Just a whisper-light touch of fabric, and he nearly shivers from the sensation of it.
Exhaling, Draco allows his eyes to fall shut, leaning back into her just slightly so that she knows her touch is welcome. He's never been good with his words, but at least he's learning how to find alternative means to express these things.
"I don't know what use it'll be," he says, voice dull and scratchy from being awake for so long.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2017-02-18 01:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-02-18 05:58 pm (UTC)Draco thought he hated her. Still thinks he does, on some days. She's loud, annoying, too quick to remind others of her limitless knowledge. She's also kind, gentle, and loyal towards those she cares for. She's a conundrum to someone like him--especially when she'd extended this... kinder side toward him. He'd thought Hermione had an ulterior motive at first. She must have. Why would she want to associate with him after the war?
Their thirst for and enjoyment of broadening their minds with knowledge is what eventually allowed them to settle on the same level, developing an easy camaraderie once he'd overcome his suspicions of her motives. And then it simply snowballed from there.
Nightmares were a constant companion for Draco when Voldemort rose once more to power and his aunt Bella and the other Death Eaters began to use his family home as their base of operations. He'd seen and heard things... done things... things that keep him up at night. Like tonight. Or today. He sits on the mattress, hunched over his knees, staring off ahead. Not quite seeing anything, just remembering.
She has her own nightmares to contend with as well, so he'd been careful to remain silent, not rustling the sheets when he'd moved. Once he'd fallen into that zombie-like state, there'd been no moving. Not even when the sun began to peep through the windows, brightening the room. Not even when the sounds of daytime began to echo through the flat. Not even when a soft, summer breeze swept its way through the space.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-19 11:21 pm (UTC)She had never imagined that she would stumble into anything like this, not really. She had never dreamed that she would end up sharing anything with Draco Malfoy. She hadn't even considered it until they'd somehow stumbled into something with one another and now... Now she's here, dozing in his bed, warm and comfortable and happy in a way she hasn't been in a very long time.
Waking up now is a little strange, her eyesight a touch fuzzy as she lifts a hand to rub at the dryness there. Her dreams were clear and without nightmares for once and she basks in it even as she knows that this isn't what she was looking for. She hadn't woken up because of her own demons but because of someone else's, and she shifts as she moves forward, raising her body up and letting herself blink in the barely-there light of the room.
Draco is there, and he is suffering. She can't feel the bed shaking from his movements but that's okay - she doesn't need to. Hermione doesn't need anything else but herself and her own knowledge to understand that the person she crawled into bed with needs her help and support, and that's the only thing on her mind right now. Nothing else matters and nothing else is as important to this - not sleep or preparing for her day or getting out of bed. Nothing but Draco.
Careful, she moves and wraps her arms around him from behind, her legs sliding down to either side of his body. Her fingers brush over his stomach, flat against the fabric of his shirt, and when she speaks her voice is soft and low, gentle and careful.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
no subject
Date: 2017-02-25 02:59 am (UTC)It's a near-instant reaction, that defensiveness. Honed to perfection over so many years. A default setting in him he's actively tried to push aside--especially when around her. It's one that nearly gets the best of him now.... until he notices the arms wrapped around his middle. The legs framing his. The hand pressing lightly to his stomach, stroking fabric and, to a lesser extent, him. Just a whisper-light touch of fabric, and he nearly shivers from the sensation of it.
Exhaling, Draco allows his eyes to fall shut, leaning back into her just slightly so that she knows her touch is welcome. He's never been good with his words, but at least he's learning how to find alternative means to express these things.
"I don't know what use it'll be," he says, voice dull and scratchy from being awake for so long.