The Gallows Chapter 11

That was the first night Hermione woke to him screaming.

The day had passed easily, with Hermione making the time to go up to his room so they could eat lunch together. Malfoy had not started on his food until Theo quietly left the room, muttering something about the kitchens and dragging Pansy along with him. Blaise spent the majority of the day running away from Ginny, who quickly figured out this fact and found great amusement in popping up wherever he’d run off to in various states of undress.

In the evening, Hermione and Malfoy had their usual dinner, now seated before the fire. There was something more relaxed about his posture as he carefully cut his roasted chicken, though she’d stifled the laugh at seeing a man with impeccable table manners eat seated on the floor in front of a coffee table. He’d rushed only a few times, catching himself quickly, though a flush had colored his cheeks.

They had just reached the point in Pride and Prejudice where Elizabeth Bennett turned down Mr. Darcy’s proposal when Hermione had been unable to stop her yawns. A pale hand reached into her line of vision, gently taking the book and marking their place. Hermione nodded, understanding the quiet dismissal, and bade him goodnight.

It felt like only an hour later that she’d woke to a scream that seemed to rip the world in two. Her wand was in her hand before she was truly awake, pointing it around the darkened bedroom, chest heaving. Was Bellatrix here? Was she torturing someone else? Harry? Ron?

No. Bellatrix Lestrange was dead. It was five years after the war and no one was being tortured. It was just a dream.

But then another scream filled the manor and Hermione was up like a shot, careening through the connecting door and flicking her wand at the candles on the mantle and beside table. Another ripped through the room, gut wrenching and terrible, like dragging rusted nails down a chalkboard, the sound of the cruciatus personified.

Malfoy lay before the hearth, no pillow or blanket, writhing on the floor. Hermione’s eyes pricked, throat burning with the echo of a sob — had that been what she’d looked like all those years ago? His hands clawed at the thick rug, head thrashing, the muscles in his neck bulging with another rasping howl.

Hermione’s muscles locked into place, looking around the room stupidly as if someone would appear and tell her what to do. Her stomach twisted at the realization that they were no longer children, and even still for most of her childhood they’d been left to their own devices. No, she was the one who must take charge.

With Malfoy’s next scream she scrambled forward, the rug burning her knees as she skidded next to him, hands closing over his shoulders. But her touch only made him thrash harder, the pale skin of his face bright red, a vein pulsing in his temple. Sweat and tears mixed on his cheeks, flinging onto her forearms as his head whipped from side to side.

“Malfoy! Malfoy! It’s me, it’s Hermione. You’re safe, you’re safe.” She said the words over and over until they caught in her throat, until her eyes stung and her throat grew thick.

Hands wrapped around her wrists, wrenching them off his shoulders. In an instant she was flipped with a forearm pinned against her throat, gray eyes wild above her, small spots of blood blooming in the whites.

“It’s all right,” she crooned, even as his body shook, as tears fell onto her face mixing with her own. She reached up, pushing the hair from his forehead and neck, cupping his cheeks. “It’s me, it’s only me. You’re home, you’re safe.”

“Safe.” The word was raw, hanging in the space between them before slowly, his forearm slid from her neck.

Hermione shushed him as his whole body tremored. A soft sob cracked through his chest, and Malfoy collapsed, white blonde hair splayed out across her belly. She continued to run her fingers through his sweat dampened hair, his head heavy on her sternum, ear to her heart. Resolving not to move, she held him close as his sobs turned into quiet cries and she continued to reassure him over and over.

You’re safe. You’re all right. It’s just me. You’re home. We’re home. We’re safe.

Eventually his breathing evened out and his shoulders released their tension. Unconsciously it seemed, his arms slid beneath her, clutching her tighter. But Hermione did not move, only continued to stroke his hair, brushing it off his cheeks and murmuring a gentle cooling charm for his flushed skin.

“Safe,” Malfoy murmured in his sleep, voice so rough she wondered if he’d strained his vocal cords, hands tensing around her shoulders.

Hermione didn’t know how long she lay there, staring at the candles flickering across the room on the bedside table. She didn’t know how long it took for her heart to calm, for the tears that wet her temples and dampened her hair to dry. But somewhere along the way, her hand slowed and her body relaxed.

Sleep found them both before the sun began to rise.

…

Hermione woke to a pillow beneath her head and a soft blanket covering her bare legs and arms, the scent of apples and spice surrounding her. With a gasp, she sat up, only for someone to make a soft, shushing noise.

Malfoy.

He was seated beside her, the fire in the hearth cracking and popping. Some of the hollowness he’d lost in the last two weeks had returned to his eyes, but there was a new awareness there as he looked her over. Hermione rubbed a hand over her face before brushing back her curls, wincing as her fingers got stuck in the tangles.

“Morning,” she murmured.

Malfoy shifted, porcelain clinking and she opened her eyes to find a cup of tea held out to her. “Morning.”

“Oh…” She took a tentative sip, eyes widening. It was made exactly the way she liked it. “Thank you, this—this is very good.”

A flush danced up Malfoy’s neck, but he was looking at his own cup, awkwardness slinking into the room. What must it have been like for him to wake wrapped around her? Her cheeks heated at the realization that she’d run into his room in only her underwear and an oversized t-shirt.

“I have nightmares too,” she offered, taking another sip. “Though, I suppose they’re not as often as they used to be.”

Hermione waited for him to shut down, for the shutters to close behind his face but instead he cleared his throat.

“I haven’t had them in a while. Not since—not since I first went…” Malfoy trailed off in a heavy rasp, swallowing painfully, but Hermione nodded.

Not since he first was sent to Azkaban.

“What happened last night was nothing I haven’t seen before,” Hermione said quickly as his lips turned down and another flush crept up his cheeks. “A few years ago, Harry set fire to his wardrobe, thinking it was a horcrux. It took me and Gin a solid ten minutes to put out the flames while Ron had Harry in a full bodybind.”

 Malfoy’s eyes widened. “Fuck.”

A small grin pulled at the corner of Hermione’s mouth. “It took us a month to get the smell of burned hair out of the townhouse. So, believe me when I say I’ve seen worse.”

After a long moment, he nodded, taking another slow sip of tea. Hermione spied the tray on the table beside him, the teapot, cream, and sugar, a plate stacked with toast, and a phial of nutritional potion.

“Lottie,” Hermione called softly.

The elf appeared with a pop, a satisfied smile curling around her round cheeks. “Mistress called for Lottie?”

“Would you please fetch some pain relief potion?”

Lottie nodded enthusiastically before vanishing. Though Malfoy’s expression was cross, she found it did not bother her the way the coldness had. She would take his temper over the apathy and ice.

“Granger—”

“Who says it’s for you?” she snapped. Malfoy raised his brows. “Well, all right it is for you, but I can see the way you wince when you swallow.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You’re not my—”

“Wife, yes, I know. But…” she sighed, putting down her empty teacup. “But I’d like very much to be your friend.”

The gentle patter of rain hit the windows as Malfoy stared at her, eyes moving back and forth between hers. Hermione tried to feel her expression from the inside out, the way her teeth bit into the inside of her cheek, the tension in her forehead.

Then, Malfoy sighed, dipping his chin as if in defeat.

“Friends.”