Ficlet: Learning To Heal
Title: Learning to Heal
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Rating: PG-15
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
In the cover of night, he watches her.
He’s inexplicably drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. Try as he might, he can’t stay away. He can’t sleep without seeing her.
She’s there every night, on the verandah, looking out into the darkness as if she knows she’s not alone. She never speaks or moves. She just stands there, her arms wrapped around her; he’s never sure whether it’s for comfort or warmth, or both.
So they stand there, so close but so far, the dark both hindering and comforting.
~*~
He slumps on his bed in his dark, cold flat. The furnishings are spartan at best; he is not interested in material things any more. After the war, none of it matters.
The war has changed all of them; nobody could ever have prepared themselves for the horror that would face them. The loss of life. The spilling of innocent blood. The death of the wizarding world’s hero. In order to ensure the survival of what was left of the only world that had ever embraced him, Harry Potter had sacrificed his life. But the dark had died with him. Voldemort was, finally, no more.
So he goes through the motions; every day he gets up, he showers, he eats. He spends his days trying to avoid those who are still alive. The irony of the situation does not escape him. He craves the contact of someone who understands, but he shuns away from any attempt made by others.
Somehow, he knows it has to be her. She is the only one who can reach him.
~*~
She’s on the verandah. The wind is howling around her and the rain pours down steadily like the beating of a drum. She can feel him. She knows he’s there. She’s long sensed somebody, but it’s only recently she’s put the pieces together. It has to be him. Nobody else would be foolish enough to stand in the pouring rain; he must know he could get sick. She sometimes wonders if that’s his aim. Then maybe the hurt would stop.
~*~
He hears the knock on the door but doesn’t answer, because it couldn’t be for him. Nobody would come to visit him.
He lies on his bed and waits for the noise to stop, but it doesn’t. Finally, he gets off the bed and goes to the door, ready to fling it open and tell whomever it is to go away.
But the words die on his lips when he finds her standing there.
“Hermione.” It’s a statement, a question, and a prayer all at once.
She steps in uninvited, closing the door behind her. He hasn’t moved from the spot, frozen in place.
“Draco.” She lifts a trembling hand up to place it gently on his cheek, and he turns his head towards her, towards the warmth of her skin on his. “We all need to heal,” she whispers.
Her hand drifts down, her fingers trailing light over his naked chest. He still doesn’t move, torn between wanting to push her away and wanting to kiss her until she can’t breathe.
“Let me help you heal,” she breathes pleadingly.
Time seems to stand still as their lips drift towards each other, and the distance feels like it will never be surmounted, but then suddenly, his mouth is on hers.
The kiss is tentative, light. A reassurance, an affirmation. Their mouths move together, asking, seeking.
He pulls back far enough to be able to look into her eyes; despite her pain, she smiles at him. “It’s okay,” she whispers, even though it’s not.
She moves back towards him and grasps his face in her hands, her touch gentle and calming. She draws him back to her, and this time, their kiss is anything but tentative. It is hot and wet and their tongues slide against each other. Her arms go around his neck and his are around her waist, drawing her against him.
Their bodies mold together to form one. Her breasts are crushed against his chest and he’s holding her so tightly it hurts, but she can’t push him away. He needs this, so much. He needs her. He needs her to help him heal. He’s been reaching out, every night, cloaked in the dark.
So she throws him a lifeline.
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Rating: PG-15
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
In the cover of night, he watches her.
He’s inexplicably drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. Try as he might, he can’t stay away. He can’t sleep without seeing her.
She’s there every night, on the verandah, looking out into the darkness as if she knows she’s not alone. She never speaks or moves. She just stands there, her arms wrapped around her; he’s never sure whether it’s for comfort or warmth, or both.
So they stand there, so close but so far, the dark both hindering and comforting.
~*~
He slumps on his bed in his dark, cold flat. The furnishings are spartan at best; he is not interested in material things any more. After the war, none of it matters.
The war has changed all of them; nobody could ever have prepared themselves for the horror that would face them. The loss of life. The spilling of innocent blood. The death of the wizarding world’s hero. In order to ensure the survival of what was left of the only world that had ever embraced him, Harry Potter had sacrificed his life. But the dark had died with him. Voldemort was, finally, no more.
So he goes through the motions; every day he gets up, he showers, he eats. He spends his days trying to avoid those who are still alive. The irony of the situation does not escape him. He craves the contact of someone who understands, but he shuns away from any attempt made by others.
Somehow, he knows it has to be her. She is the only one who can reach him.
~*~
She’s on the verandah. The wind is howling around her and the rain pours down steadily like the beating of a drum. She can feel him. She knows he’s there. She’s long sensed somebody, but it’s only recently she’s put the pieces together. It has to be him. Nobody else would be foolish enough to stand in the pouring rain; he must know he could get sick. She sometimes wonders if that’s his aim. Then maybe the hurt would stop.
~*~
He hears the knock on the door but doesn’t answer, because it couldn’t be for him. Nobody would come to visit him.
He lies on his bed and waits for the noise to stop, but it doesn’t. Finally, he gets off the bed and goes to the door, ready to fling it open and tell whomever it is to go away.
But the words die on his lips when he finds her standing there.
“Hermione.” It’s a statement, a question, and a prayer all at once.
She steps in uninvited, closing the door behind her. He hasn’t moved from the spot, frozen in place.
“Draco.” She lifts a trembling hand up to place it gently on his cheek, and he turns his head towards her, towards the warmth of her skin on his. “We all need to heal,” she whispers.
Her hand drifts down, her fingers trailing light over his naked chest. He still doesn’t move, torn between wanting to push her away and wanting to kiss her until she can’t breathe.
“Let me help you heal,” she breathes pleadingly.
Time seems to stand still as their lips drift towards each other, and the distance feels like it will never be surmounted, but then suddenly, his mouth is on hers.
The kiss is tentative, light. A reassurance, an affirmation. Their mouths move together, asking, seeking.
He pulls back far enough to be able to look into her eyes; despite her pain, she smiles at him. “It’s okay,” she whispers, even though it’s not.
She moves back towards him and grasps his face in her hands, her touch gentle and calming. She draws him back to her, and this time, their kiss is anything but tentative. It is hot and wet and their tongues slide against each other. Her arms go around his neck and his are around her waist, drawing her against him.
Their bodies mold together to form one. Her breasts are crushed against his chest and he’s holding her so tightly it hurts, but she can’t push him away. He needs this, so much. He needs her. He needs her to help him heal. He’s been reaching out, every night, cloaked in the dark.
So she throws him a lifeline.