The morning sun filtered gently through the curtains, casting warm golden hues across the quiet bedroom. Hermione sat by the window, fingers tracing the faint, jagged lines on her arm—scars she had hidden for years, scars no one knew about, not even Draco.
Her breath caught as her eyes landed on the most haunting of them all: a word carved deep into her skin—Trueblood.
It was a cruel mark from a time when hopelessness had consumed her, when the weight of hatred and prejudice had driven her to desperate acts. The very word that now, ironically, represented a union of strength and love in her life—the "Trueblood" that was redefined by her and Draco's bond.
She had never told him. How could she? The memory was too raw.
Draco, returning quietly to the room, noticed the stillness in her gaze and the way her sleeve was pushed just high enough to reveal the scars.
"Hermione?" His voice was gentle, concerned.
She pulled her arm back slowly, wrapping it beneath the sleeve, hiding the pain once more. "It's nothing," she whispered, but her voice trembled.
Draco crossed the room in a heartbeat, taking her hand in his. "It's not nothing if it's part of you."
For the first time, she let him see the hidden darkness she carried—the proof of battles fought alone, before they could fight together.
"I never wanted you to see this," she admitted, voice cracking. "It's from before… when I didn't believe I could survive. When I thought I was less than what I am now."
He cupped her face, eyes fierce with love and protectiveness. "You are so much more than those scars, Hermione. You're my wife. Mia's mother. A warrior who's redefined what 'true blood' means."
Tears welled in her eyes. "Sometimes it still hurts. The hatred, the loneliness—it doesn't just vanish."
Draco pulled her close, steady and unwavering. "Then I'll carry it with you. We're in this together. Always."
In that quiet embrace, the shadows of the past met the light of their love, fragile but unbroken.