Let the Scar Bleed

It had never been a longer, colder night.

He shivered slightly as he walked. He rubbed his hands to fend off the creeping numbness. It was a steady torrent of rain, and his heart beat in a steady rhythm. He counted the lampposts that he had walked by on.

"One, two," he whispered under his breath. It was a whisper of calmness and sureness. He walked calmly, not really caring whether he was soaked to the bone by the sky's thousand tears.

He was concentrated solely on one thought.

"Three, four," he murmured under his misty breath. Lightning crackled out of the dark sky, it pierced the steady hum of the rain. He looked up just in time to see it disappear. He looked at the empty street before him. Everyone was inside their homes, warmed up by welcoming fires and warmed up by the care of their special ones.

Just one thought.

"Five, six..." he counted. He could feel a draft pass him. He slightly shivered. His blonde hair glistened under the streetlights he had passed by on. His hair trickled cold droplets on his prominent cheekbones and they dropped; either to the ground or on his white collared shirt. His black cotton pants stuck to his legs each time he took a step.

Just one person.

He'd make up for all the times missed. He recalled how the room would light up with her smile. She loved to smile. He recalled her seriousness when at work, and how her nose would wrinkle up if ever she got annoyed. He remembered her bossiness whenever things didn't go her way, how she would pout when she wanted to catch his attention, and how she would characteristically laugh at her triumph of doing so.

He smiled at the memory of it.

He put his hands into his pockets. They were getting too cold. His skin was a paler than the usual, no longer tinted with the light golden brown color she loved. It wasn't his fault though. He was tortured too much that even he thought he would never see the light of day again. He wasn't fed well, he didn't see sunlight for more than two months, and he wasn't given a change of clothing; not even for hygiene purposes.

" Seven," he said, seeing another identical tall streetlight. He was almost there. The buildings around him were dark; lights were obscured by curtains and blinds. " Please wait there," he spoke softly to himself. " Just be there..."

His strides were faster now. His shoes made clacking sounds on the cemented sidewalk. He couldn't wait to see her face and see her smile. There was never a day she didn't get to hug him; she never forgot to do so. He needed that.

" Eight," he finally said. Infront of the streetlight was a quaint brick apartment building that had three stories. He looked at the second floor, all the lights were on. He felt his heart skip a beat.

He saw an elderly woman with an umbrella get in carrying a bag of groceries. He started up to her. "Why, Draco, is that you?" she smiled a kind smile. "I haven't seen you in months!"

He gave a tight lipped smile. "I - I've been detained by business in...Manchester," he replied.

"Well, get in, young man!" she scolded playfully. "Your wife is waiting for you." She smiled as she went in. "I'll see you tomorrow, then? Good night." She waved and headed down the corridor.

Draco stared at the empty corridor. Wife.... He never had a wife, he wasn't even married. It was only someone he knew he loved. He was grateful to be away from the cold. He looked at the steps leading to the second floor and then he slowly climbed up. His hands were shaking as he held the banisters. His breath quickened.

Was she alright? Would she still be the same? Would she take him back? Would she still love him? There were hundreds of questions racing through his mind. He shoved them all away. All he wanted to know was that Hermione was well.

He walked down the wide corridor, the wooden boards squeaked under his shoes. He came to a halt infront of a door with a number three on it. He prayed that she would be there, all well, and that she would smile.

He felt the impulse to knock. His hand paused in midair. His hand enclosed over the copper colored knob instead. He turned it slowly and to his surprise, the door was open. He stepped inside and saw the place. It was just as he had left it. The furniture hadn't been moved and the place was still clean. There was a merry fire crackling in the fireplace. The fire was not welcoming.

He did not smile. Something was different. It wasn't the apartment. It was something else.

His heart suddenly pounded that it actually hurt. It was a sudden panic and he ran for the bedroom. "Hermione?!" he yelled as another evil cackle of lightning reared its ugly head above the building. "Hermione?!"

He stopped at the bedroom doorway. She wasn't there. He looked at the bed where a lamp cast a dim light over what was on the bed. The bed was made and the only thing that made it slightly messy were strips of paper and a pair of scissors." Cut outs? " Draco thought. His eyes diverted to the bathroom. The door was closed. With one stride he reached for the knob. It was locked. He shook it.

"Hermione!" he yelled again. He shook the knob harder. It didn't budge. He stepped back and kicked the wooden door with all he had. It flung open and Draco kicked it aside. He stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened in horror. It must've been some nightmare.

He gave out an inaudible gasp. "Oh god...."

Hermione was lying face down beside the bath tub, curled up in a fetal position with a pool of blood trailing all over the cold, white bathroom tiled floor. Her hair cascaded down to her shoulders where they ended up in curled tips, covering her hands. Without another second he cradled her in his arms.

"Hermione...oh god! Why?!" he cried out, seeing the extent of her injuries. He bit his lower lip to keep himself from losing control. Blood splattered all over his still wet; white shirt. She was too pale to look alive, too pale to be alive.

Hermione suddenly opened her eyes. She looked up at him. One of her hands moved. Draco watched as she raised it up. She slowly touched his cheek with her palm, and when she withdrew it, a side of his face was now slick with blood, but at that moment Draco didn't care.

He couldn't talk. Then he remembered what he had prayed for.

Hermione gave him a smile.