Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Not Harry Potter, not Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, or even the house I'm sitting in. Just my measly little laptop I'm typing this on. I hope you enjoy this story, I wrote it just for you guys…

A/N: Sorry if it seems a little morbid.. That's just hw I'm feeling at the moment …. Enjoy:

He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "Mmmm." He sighed, flopping down on the couch in the Common room they shared. He stared into the fire for about ten minutes just thinking about the day he'd had, what he could have done better, and what he liked about it. He did this every night, it helped him clear his head so that he could go to sleep without anything bothering him.

A faint cry startled him out of his thoughts. He looked up and around, but nothing caught his eye, and he didn't hear anything else, so he went back to staring into the fire and thinking. Then he heard it again, but it sounded like sobs now.

He stood up and walked over to the Head Girls room and pressed his ear against the door quietly. Sure enough, he could hear hysterical crying coming from inside the room. While he was listening, they calmed down to slight hiccupping, and then he heard loud music playing.

"Don't look at me…

Mmmmmmm, oohhh. Mmm, ahhh, mmm.

Every day, is so wonderful, and suddenly, it's hard to breathe. Now and then, I get insecure. From all the pain. I'm so ashamed. I am beautiful, no mater what they say, words can't bring me down. I am beautiful, in every single way, yes words can't bring me down, oh no. So don't you bring me down, today. Mmmmm. Mm. To all your friends, you're delirious, so consumed…"

He cracked open the door a little, and was shocked at what he saw. She was sitting on the bed with a knife in her hands. A beautiful knife. It was silver, with a jewel encrusted silver handle. As he watched, the song changed, and a slightly more upbeat song came on.

"I need another story, something to get off my chest. My life gets kind of boring, need something that I can confess, till all my sleeves are stained red, from all the truth I said…"

As the song started playing, she pressed the knife to her arm and pressed down firmly and dragged the blade across her wrist, hissing slightly at the pain it caused. She closed her eyes as the blood dripped from her arm. The feeling obviously brought along a slight euphoria, because she was smiling slightly now, as the tears dried on her face.

He stood at the doorway in disbelief. How could she do this to herself? It was … Understandable. He thought, as he unconsciously traced the thin scars underneath his long shirt sleeve. He looked down and sighed. The slight noise alerted the girl who's eyes snapped open. The music had stopped and she had heard him.

He mouth opened to a slight 'O' and she rushed to hide her wrist and the blood as well as her knife. But it was too late. He had seen her.

She started babbling random things to him, trying to make up excuses. But he wasn't listening. What should he do? Ovliviate her? No. That would be cruel.

"I'll just show her mine." He thought.

He took a deep breath and walked into the room. She continued yelling at him, telling him to get out and that if he told anyone she'd make his life a living Hell.

He lifted a finger to his lips, effectively quieting her. He took that same hand and pulled up his left sleeve, then his right. He bared his wrists to her.

She stood there gaping. Wondering how someone else could do that to themselves. She wasn't alone. Someone else felt the pain she did too. It brought tears to her eyes.

"You…you do it too?" She asked haltingly. Not wanting it to be true, but at the same time, not wanting to be alone.

"Yes." He whispered.

She started crying again. "But, but why?"

He sighed. "My Father. He .. He beats me, and my Mother.. And I just feel so hopeless. And it helps a little. With the pain. It makes me feel alive. I can escape to my own little world and forget about the pain he's caused me for a little while…What abut you?"

She hadn't expected him to be so honest. Now she would have to be.

She took a deep breath, "it started when I was four .. My Dad would come into my room to play a game. He'd climb into bed with me, wake me up. And start …-"

She took anther deep shuddering breath-

"-…he'd put my hand down his pants and tell me what to do. He told me that all little girls did this for their Fathers, that it was just a part of growing up. Well, a few years later, I realized that it was NOT normal. But by then he'd moved on from just having me touch him. He'd come into my room and rape me. Every night. Every. Night. I was eight. Eight years old … Practically a baby … Then, my parents got a divorce. My Dad told me that if I told my Mom I wanted to live with her he'd kill us both. So I told her I wanted to live with "Daddy" that I'd be okay. It was the biggest lie I ever told. You see, she didn't know that Daddy Dearest was raping and molesting me. Otherwise she would have moved out earlier.. I hope. Anyways, after my Mom moved out, he stopped being so secretive about it and started raping me during the day, on the sofa, in the hallway... He started hitting me when I did the silliest things like forget to put the cap back on the toothbrush, or read a book. Or watch TV when he was at work. Or if his coffee wasn't hot enough in the morning. Or if it was too hot… I was fourteen when I started cutting. It felt amazing. It was the first thing I had control of. Then I started making myself throw up. It wasn't easy … At first, because I hadn't been eating, nothing would come up. But he was starting to notice that I wasn't eating, and he'd beat me for that too. So I ate in front of him, then I'd stick my finger down my throat when I was all alone in the bathroom and feel better. I had control. Over my body…"

He had no idea. That this "perfect" girl. Was no so perfect after all. She had not cried throughout her whole story. She seemed far away, as if she was re-living all of these horrible things.

"I'm so sorry, I had no ide-"

She continued as if she hadn't heard a thing he said, "… I loved coming to Hogwarts. It was my escape. He could send me as many threatening letters as he wanted. He couldn't hurt me until Summer. And boy did he. I'd come home every Summer and he'd be sitting there. On the couch. Waiting. He'd tell me to put all of my stuff away in my room. To take my time. "But don't take too long." He'd add, with a smirk. I'd put everything away with trembling hands and he'd walk up to my room. He'd tell me he missed me. Ask me if I enjoyed the year away. I told him every time that "It was fun, but I'm glad to be home." That's the second biggest lie I've ever told. Oh how I wished we didn't have to go home during the Summer. While he was on top of me, in me. I'd think of reasons to go visit Ron or Harry during the Summer. None of them seemed good enough. But it was a way for me to escape reality for a while… To forget. "

She laughed bitterly. "So now I'm seventeen. A legal adult here in the Wizarding World. And I've decided I'm not going back to that Hellhole. I don't know where I'm going to go… Just not back there.."

She trailed off. He walked over to her, she was now standing up, facing him. Her arms crossed. A defiant look on her face. He gathered her up in his arms and sat down on her bed, with her sitting on his lap. She started crying again and he rubbed her back, calming her slightly. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent deeply. It was warm and inviting. Vanilla and strawberries.

She stood up abruptly. As if just remembering something. "Why are you in here? Showing me your scars? Telling me your story? Making me tell you mine? … Hugging me … You never cared before… What changed?"

"I don't know Hermione," Draco replied. "I really don't know."

A/N: Sorry, I was tired of writing for the night. Hopefully I'll have more up soon. Tell me what you think please. I love reviews. I hope you liked it … It was based off my daydreams/slight truth.