She’d seen that look before. Only once. She’d forgotten until she saw it now for the second time.

“I didn’t do this, Granger,” his eyes showed how helpless he felt. The silver orbs pleaded for her to understand.

And she did. She didn’t understand how, but the once blank slate of Malfoy’s face was suddenly open for her to peruse at her leisure, like the pages of “Hogwarts: A History.”

Hermione tried her hardest not to scream. She was pretty sure she’d bitten through her tongue from the effort long before.

The effect of the Cruiciatus Curse coursed through every fiber of her body, mind and soul.

“We didn’t take anything,” she barely managed a whimper. The curse surged through her with a second wind; she was convulsing on the dark, hardwood floor of Malfoy Manor.

And then it stopped.

She gasped for air as if she’d had her head plunged underwater for the last ten minutes. Sweet, sweet air. She filled her lungs, overwhelming them while she greedily tried to take in more.

She didn’t get more. A scream erupted from her lips as Bellatrix Lestrange landed on top of her. Before she could even register the weight on her chest, she felt the blade slice through her skin.

A tear slid down her cheek, her throat quickly becoming too raw to utter anymore sound as she writhed on the ground underneath her attacker.

Hermione looked the other way, away from the blade scratching into her forearm. If only out of sight out of mind worked here like it did when she was a young child getting her flu shot.

When her cheek rested against the floor, she looked beyond her hand as the tracks her tears had forged on her cheeks changed paths. That’s when she saw him. Looking sicker and more miserable than she had ever seen him sixth year. His usually sculpted face looked hollow and dark.

There were two things that made her realize he wasn’t watching in utter boredom. The slight twitching of his jaw bone, like he was clenching his teeth together. And the look in his eyes. She’d never seen a look quite so tragic. She’d always thought his eyes were a dull grey, but now she found solace in the silver clouds taking up space where the dull grey once was. They held so many emotions: horror, disgust, pain, sadness, anger. For once, she knew those feelings weren’t directed at her, rather at what was happening to her. She didn’t know how she knew that, but the knowledge swept over her brain like magic, forcing the pain into the back of her mind, isolating it into something she could control.

And then everything went black.

Hermione abruptly stood and pushed the chair back from her desk. The memory washed over her and filled every pore on her body. She’d pushed that night into a locked trunk in her mind. After all these years, she’d dealt with most of her traumas from the war — but that one, that one was off limits to everyone, including herself.

The blonde hastily jumped to his feet as well. Draco didn’t understand what she’d seen when her eyes fogged over like that, but all of the color had drained from her bronzed skin. “Granger, I —”

“Don’t,” she held up her hand as she walked past him toward the door of her office. Hermione placed her hand on the gold knob. “I believe you. I just, I —”

Hermione didn’t finish her thought. The bushy-haired woman was gone, shutting the door softly behind her.

A/N: I don’t know what this is. Honestly the first few paragraphs slapped me in the face and then I just went with it. Haven’t written fanfic for the Harry Potter fandom ever so. Idk.