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She had never seen his scars before.
Hermione wasn't a fool. She knew Draco had scars from the war, just like everyone else did. The "Mudblood" etched into her arm still stung on some nights, when she'd wake up in a cold sweat, wheezing for breath, her own screams echoing faintly in her ears; but she'd wake up in her own bed, Crookshanks keeping watch as he always did, and the war had been over for five years now. The monsters that lurked in the shadows had been eradicated or thrown back into Azkaban, never to be released ever again.
Draco was no such monster. He'd been a victim in the war, same as everyone else. The first time she had seen him after the Battle of Hogwarts, sitting in that chained chair before the Wizengamot, beaten down in his Azkaban robes, how malnourished and haunted he was, she couldn't bear it. She had testified with Harry that Draco had been made a Death Eater under duress, and Luna Lovegood had testified that Draco had done everything in his power to keep herself and Ollivander alive in the Malfoy Manor cellar, trying to protect them both from the Death Eaters and their rancid moods. Kingsley had agreed on giving Draco one year of house arrest, and then three years probation. If he could stay out of trouble in that timeframe, his record would be wiped clean.
She didn't expect Draco's letter a few weeks later, thanking her for her testimonies. And she didn't expect to write back, establishing a long year of being each other's pen pals. She learned there was more to Draco behind his cold exterior, and she fell in love with him. He worked himself to the bone to re-educate himself, shedding the old ideologies, and when his house arrest was over, Hermione had ben there, to help him move his belongings from the Malfoy Manor into a small cottage near the woods. He asked her to stay for coffee, which turned into lunch, which turned into a hike that turned into a sunset picnic, and then...
Well, navigating a relationship took it's time. They both had their own traumas to deal with. But despite the kisses, despite the lingering touches and how Draco's eyes could darken with desire in their more heated moments, they never went beyond that. And sexual frustration was turning into a real thing that Hermione had to deal with.
Was it because of his scars? It had to be. He was covered from neck to toe every time they saw each other, even in the hot summer days. She never even saw his Dark Mark.
Something had to give. And Hermione felt that enough time had passed that maybe it was time for them to...talk about it. The elephant in the room was only going to get bigger unless they tackled it together, or they might not have a chance at all.
(^)
Friday evening, Draco arrived to her flat on her invitation, greeting her with a kiss as he stepped out of her fireplace thanks to the Floo Network and gave her some flowers. "A bit last minute," he teased, his grey eyes sparkling. "What, did you miss me so much since we saw each other at lunch?"
Hermione smiled a little as she placed the flowers in a vase with water to keep them fresh. "Actually... I wanted to talk."
He blinked, tilting his head. "Oh?"
Taking his hand, she led him to the couch, sitting them both down. "I love you," she said, staring up into his face, his sharp features. "I do. And I think we've reached a good place, but... I also feel like there's a bit of a roadblock that we might need to get over together."
"What kind of roadblock?" Draco asked.
Hermione hesitated a moment. "...Why don't you ever want to touch me beyond kissing?"
There was a long stretch of silence, and Draco's face tightened a little, a wall behind his eyes going up immediately, and she knew she had found it. But she stayed silent, keeping a tight hold of his hand, and the clock ticked softly in the background for a good minute before he exhaled. "I want to. I just... There are things I'm still working on. Things that...have not made life particularly easy beyond the obvious."
"Scars?" she asked quietly, and he grimaced a little. "Scars are old hats for us, Draco."
"Not these kinds," he whispered.
Silence again, before Hermione reached for her sleeve, pulling it up. Mudblood stared back at them, pale lines against her flesh, and Draco flinched at once, looking away, but Hermione would not be deterred. "Draco, this wasn't your fault. You know that right? You lied, to try and save us, you lied about not recognizing Harry. Bellatrix did this to me because they had the sword. You weren't responsible."
"I feel responsible," he said. "I still hear you screaming."
Her eyes stung. She swallowed the brief lump in her throat, but it remained. "So can I. But I've learned to make peace with it. It doesn't make me ugly. I doubt yours make you ugly."
He gave a tight smile. "I think we'll have to agree to disagree."
"No," Hermione said, stubborn now. "I will not. You're beautiful as you are. You've changed so much, for the better. You've learned more about the world, you've expanded yourself in so many ways... I don't want to see you make yourself small about things you had no control over." When he said nothing, she gently took his left arm, over where the Dark Mark lay hidden beneath the black material. "You told me you didn't choose this. You told me this was a punishment against your father. This does not define you, you don't need to allow it."
"It's horrid," he said quietly. "I don't want to look at it. I hate knowing it's there."
"It's not going away." Hermione's voice gentled. "Don't you think it's time to face it head on? With me?"
Draco stared back at her for a long moment before he sighed, reaching for his sleeve. As he pushed it up, Hermione couldn't help the way her breath caught; on his pale skin stood the Dark Mark, vibrantly black, absolutely covered in multiple scars, and at least one burn mark, all underneath the ink of the skull and snake. Further up his forearm, another scar, pure white tissue that indicated something deeper than just a cut.
"...Oh," she breathed.
His face twisted a bit sardonically. "I tried everything to take it off. Came to find out that nothing can remove it. Not even acid."
Her eyes widened. "Acid?"
"It burned something awful," he said. "I could all but smell my own skin being melted. And still, there it stands, mocking me."
Ever so gently, Hermione passed her fingers over the Mark. She could feel it all, the scars beneath it, the scars hidden behind the black. It was warm to the touch, but that must have been from him, because Draco always ran a bit warm, and then her hand moved to the scar higher up. "And this one?" she asked, almost dreading the answer.
He shrugged a little. "I decided that if trying to take the Mark off itself wasn't going to work, then surely it wouldn't matter if I tried to cut my own arm off entirely."
Hermione's eyes snapped back up to his face, horrified. "You didn't."
He gazed back at her steadily. "I did."
"But...?"
"...But my mother and Severus stopped me." He made a face. "I'd taken a kitchen knife and just...went for it. The pain was... And there was so much blood. I'd almost gotten to the bone when Mother walked into my suite and saw what I was doing and screamed. Severus was right behind her, and he had to do a Full Body Bind to stop me. It took two bottles of Dittany to seal my arm back together."
Her eyes felt hot again, her vision briefly blurring. Draco reached to gently wipe the tear that fell down her cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Don't be. I did it to myself." He sighed. "I made a lot more...in other places. Sometimes the pain was the only thing that felt real to me. And then I realized that having scars also meant that..." His voice trailed off briefly, his eyes darkened with memories, before he swallowed. "Well... Let's just say Greyback wasn't as interested in me when I made myself ugly."
It only took a second for his words to register, and then Hermione brought her hand to her mouth in horror. "Oh Draco..."
"...I have many scars, Hermione, and a lot of them aren't visible." And the fear that flared in his eyes were. "I love you. I want to be with you. There are days when I look at you and all I want is more, but then I remember what...what he did. Not just to me, but to others, and I feel sick... I'm sorry I'm so damaged."
"You're not damaged." When he made a face, she reached to cradle his cheeks in both hands. "No, listen to me Draco. You are not damaged. You're not broken or ugly or dirty. What was done to you was horrid, but it wasn't your fault. You survived. That counts for something." Her thumb stroked under the dark circles under his eyes, circles that remained no matter what; she always assumed it was just how his complexion worked, on top of sleepless nights, but they just added to his beauty. "This was a big step for us. I appreciate your honesty."
"Would you still appreciate the honesty if I admitted I'm not sure if I'll ever be ready for intimacy?" Draco asked, more vulnerable than she'd ever seen him.
Hermione smiled tearfully. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for. But for tonight, I'd...like it if you'd stay. I want to sleep with my arms around you."
He chuckled a little. "Not the other way around?"
"You're allowed a cuddle as much as I am, mister." Ever so gently, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips, soothed as he kissed her back. "I'll even make your cocoa the way you like~"
"Bribing my sweet tooth," Draco teased. "Such a cheeky woman, Hermione."
"You love my cheekiness," she said, before her face softened. "I do love you, you know."
"As I love you." Reaching to cover one of her hands with his own, he leaned into her touch. "You make me feel...whole."