Why you?

I don’t own Harry Potter and do not make any profits from this writing. I am just a obsessed fan who can’t move on and thinks that Draco and Hermione were sooooo getting it on behind J.K’s back!

Ok, just a quick note this time. To be honest I really don’t have time to be posting at all but I thought I should stop any hate mail or letter bombs. Anyhoo, I will thank my reviewers properly and write something witty and entertaining next time. Which, hopefully will be very soon as Uni is now wrapping up and I have just finished my exams. Here is the next chapter……

Damn stupid Malfoy. What in Merlin’s name was he doing here. He should be patrolling the first floor. Hermione looked up at the boy in anger.

Why was it him who had to find her like this? It was bad enough she had to share the heads common room with him, putting up with his snarky comments and obnoxious attitude. Now she would never live tonight down. That pretentious little ferret would hold it over her head forever.

The night the know-it-all Gryffindor princess couldn’t keep it together. The night she became a quivering mess. The night she was nearly raped. The night she proved to everyone that she couldn’t take care of herself. The night she wasn’t able to hide her hurt. The night she needed someone to hold her and make it all alright.

Hermione could feel the tears building in her eyes and she wished her mum or Mrs. Weasley was here. Hell, right now she would settle for McGonagall. She didn’t want Harry because he had enough to worry about, and Ron would just be a prat and make the whole thing much worse.

Stupid Malfoy, why was he just standing there? Why couldn’t he just get the teasing over with? Then he spoke. It was so much worse than teasing.

He spoke to her as if nothing was wrong. Damn you Malfoy, couldn’t you just acknowledge what was going on. His indifference made her feel more alone than ever.

That was when the tears came. They fell forth from her eyes before she had any say in the matter. Hermione knew she had to get away before she broke down again. She stood on her now somewhat more stable legs. She was in the process of pushing past Malfoy when her face became suddenly illuminated by the candle light that the alcove had shielded it from.

She paused all of a sudden when she heard a sharp intake of breath and mumbled obscenity come from Malfoy. Through her tears, she saw him look from her face, to the broken strap on her top, to the mess called her hair before returning to the tears streaming over her flushed cheeks.

A look of realisation suddenly came over his face before he swore again. Hermione saw the change is his piercing grey eyes and she understood that he had only just caught on to the situation. The swing from feeling completely alone to having someone know was too much for her to cope with.

Before she knew what she was doing, she had flung herself at Malfoy, wrapped her arms around his neck and had begun sobbing without restraint into his chest.

***

Draco could cope with many things, being crucioed half to death for not killing Dumbledore was one of them. Nevertheless, crying girls gave him heart palpitations.

He was about to make some haughty comment before taking his leave when she stood up and made to push past him. Her face, which was previously hidden by shadows, caught the light.

Immediately Draco could see the tell tale signs of bruising around her eye, across her cheek and along her jaw. They were just starting to show but he had seen the beginnings of bruises on his mother enough times to tell.

‘Fuck’ Draco breathed.

Granger hadn’t just been hit, she had taken a beating.

She froze before turning back to look at him. Draco studied her face almost absentmindedly, thinking about his mother, before his gaze dropped to her shoulder. The strap of the, to him, very un-Granger like pink top dangled, ripped from its stitches. His eyes then made their way back up her body to study her hair. Although as bushy and messy as usual, he could tell that it had begun the patrol in a well-groomed ponytail. Looking back at her face, he knew. He didn’t know how, he just knew.

‘Fuck’ he murmured.

Good one Draco, he thought immediately as he mentally bitch slapped himself. Here’s Granger, going through what is probably the worst moment of her life, and you swear at her knowing full well she hates curse words. High five for having all the tact of a premenstrual Hippogriff!

It had suddenly become one of those rare times in his life where Draco was lost for words. What do you say at a time like this, when the person who needs comfort most likely wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire.

Then again, he was talking about Granger, the goody two shoes. She would probably save his life and then give him a lecture on fire safety without thinking twice. Hell, she had already saved him once. Question was, would he spit on her?

More important question, is it possible to not ramble in your head when you are out of your depth?

Draco was suddenly rescued from his own thoughts when Granger threw herself into his arms. His first instinct was to wrap his arms around her trembling body. His second instinct was the thought that he should throw her to the floor in disgust. Just because he no longer wanted her dead, it did not mean he had suddenly become St Draco, Patron saint of Mudbloods.

However, thoughts of his mother prevented him from turning away a woman in distress. How any man could physically mistreat a woman was beyond him.

He tightened his hold, while his hand made slow calming circles on her back and he whispered comfort into her hair. Her tears were soaking through his t-shirt and he knew he couldn’t push her away now if he tried. Not even Mudbloods like Granger deserved this. Besides Draco owed her.

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