Rating/warnings: R?, mention of scarring and past torture, threesome
Word count: 386
Summary: Mirror, mirror, on the wall, I'm the unfairest one of all.
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall.” The familiar words rolled off her tongue like a string of bitter black pearls, clicking against her teeth and begging to be swallowed. The mirror did not answer—it knew better than to speak in Hermione’s presence.
“I’m the unfairest of them all.” Her reflection showed the truth. She pushed back her hair on the right side, revealing to a web of ridged scarring a spider would have been proud to weave. The damage continued down her neck, melting into a network of burns as if the spiders had transmuted into fire slugs and traversed her skin.
Her critical examination of her marked body was interrupted by a shadow that resolved into solidity as a pair of arms wrapped around her. “You are not,” Blaise murmured, the deep bass of his voice rumbling at her back. His hand skimmed down her collarbone, earning a shiver.
“Don’t keep doing this, cara,” he whispered against her skin. “I think you are beautiful. These scars, they are part of you… a badge of honor. I love them because I love you.” The words were sincere, full of the soft love that kissed better all wounds. “And…” His smirk was wicked in the mirror, its reflection enough to weaken her knees just a little. “I love what I can do to them.” Teeth delicately nibbled at one of them, making her forget her problems briefly.
“What a delectable picture,” came a drawling voice from the doorway. Grey eyes met Hermione’s in the mirror, eyes that knew what she’d been thinking just from where she was. Hermione had never been able to hide from those eyes, not from the moment Draco had been called from St Mungo’s to where she’d been found by Harry and Ron—after the vengeful kidnapping, after she’d been tortured, after her world had shattered.
The blond padded over, towel slung around his hips. “Playing evil queen again?” he asked quietly, joining Blaise in putting his arms around her. Them. She didn’t even need to nod. The expression of her reflection said all the words she wouldn’t speak. “The unfairest thing is only that this happened,” he told her again. She thought he would keep saying it until she believed it—she wanted him to keep saying it until she believed it.
A/N: Written for this week's dyno_drabble. Prompt was a mirror.