Hermione's eyes fluttered open. She felt like she had been sleeping for days, and tried to recall what had happened. She thought hard, but this only ended up hurting her head. Something else hurt too, she realized. She glanced down at her aching arm and nearly hurled at what she saw.
Hermione's arm was a bloody mess, the pale silkiness of her skin was marred by the deep burgundy that had dried over multiple cuts. This brought back memories of what had happened to her.
They had been at Malfoy Manor, and Bellatrix had been torturing her. She had carved 'mudblood' into her arm. Hermione lifted her hand and felt the dried tears still on her cheeks. It couldn't have been that long since Malfoy Manor, then.
She looked around her, taking in her surroundings. They were completely unfamiliar. The walls were gray, and looked to be of bare cement, with nothing adorning the walls. The floor was also cement, with a cheap woven rug thrown here and there. She was sitting on a creaky old cot, in what she guessed was the bedroom. Her shoes looked to have been thrown haphazardly in the middle of the room, one on a rug and one not. Beside the dark wood door there was a hook, where her beaded bag hung. She looked down at her unharmed arm, and saw there was a chain attaching her to the metal bed post. She panicked at this.
Where were Harry and Ron? Did they get out safely? Why wasn't she dead, but instead chained to an unfamiliar bed?
The answer to the last of these questions came walking through the dark wooden door moments after.
"Malfoy," Hermione spat. "I should have known. Let me go!"
"Granger," the blonde acknowledged. "You should be thanking me. I saved your life, after all."
"Saved me?" Hermione screeched. If only she knew how wild she looked in that instant. Her hair bushy and uncombed, her blood smeared on her face, her eyes such of an animal. "You have me chained to a bed!"
"There isn't anything else to chain you to. And I couldn't have you running off to Potty and Weasel. You would just tell them where I am, and I can't have that. I have more powerful people to run from, now," Malfoy sneered.
"Well I can't very well tell Harry and Ron where you are if I don't know, now can I?" Hermione retorted, leaving out the part that she couldn't leave to tell them anyway as she was chained up.
"We're in a shack in northern Scotland," Malfoy supplied.
This took Hermione by surprise. Why would he tell her where they were? Why was she even here for Merlin's sake!
"What are you planning to do, Malfoy?" she inquired. She didn't know why, she knew she wouldn't get any answers. Or if she did they would be leering taunts and lies.
"Nothing, Granger. I'm hiding, and now you're hiding with me. You see, Granger, I saved your life back at the Manor. I told them I would execute you, and so I took you and I disapparated. They're looking for me right now, to kill me. Because I'm a blood traitor now, for saving a life," Malfoy explained. Hermione was silent, not expecting this. Finally, she thought of something semi-coherent to say.
"If you saved me then why do you have me chained up?"
"I told you before: I can't have you running off to Potty and Weasel," he repeated.
"I have no way of knowing where they are," Hermione whispered, feeling defeaten. She was stuck here with Malfoy, without a wand, for an indefinite amount of time. "Do you have my wand?" she asked a little louder. She had always had a strong connection with her wand. She didn't know about anybody else, but it was something comforting to her. It was always around, she even kept it near when sleeping. It's what linked her to her magic, and she reveled in the feeling. Without it she felt as if she was missing a part of herself.
"No," Malfoy answered simply, and Hermione's heart dropped. "Bellatrix broke it at the Manor. I'm sorry."
She remembered how after Godric's Hollow Harry had to use her wand until Ron came back with an extra wand from a thug. Harry had been stoic, but she knew it hurt him that his wand was irreparable. That's how she felt now.
"I came in to heal you. I don't want those cuts on your arm to get infected," Malfoy said. "I can't heal infection."
"You're being…civil, Malfoy," Hermione observed.
"May as well start now, it might be a long time until this war is over," he answered. The conversation ended, and Malfoy went about cleaning and healing her wounds. Apparent she had bruises all over her face, but she couldn't feel them which she was thankful for. Once he was done he tucked his wand away and looked her in the eyes. "It hasn't stopped bleeding," Malfoy said, indicating her left forearm.
"How long has it been, since…" Hermione couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence, but he understood what she was asking.
"About two days, give or take a couple of hours. It should have stopped bleeding by now, something is wrong with it. You've lost a lot of blood already," Malfoy stated. Hermione searched his face and saw that he looked almost…concerned. That couldn't be right! The Draco Malfoy she knew, being concerned about a mudblood? What a world that would be to live in!
"Do you have any blood-replenishing potions?" Hermione asked, her schooling automatically kicking in, she started wracking through the multitudes of healing information in her mind.
"No. I barely have enough food here, and I'm the only one that's been eating so far. You should eat, but not much. Your body has to get used to eating again," Malfoy explained. "There is bread, water, and some Muggle canned food. It's disgusting, really. I would have apparated to get food but I didn't want to leave you here alone."
This stumped Hermione. "Why?"
"You might have died the way you've been bleeding!" he shouted. "I was surprised when it started to dry on your arm. That dagger that my Aunt Bella used obviously had dark incantations upon it. I saved you so I wouldn't have to see you die, I realize that is incredibly selfish of me."
With that Malfoy stormed from the room, and at the same time her arm started bleeding once more. However, this didn't register in Hermione's mind as she was too busy mulling over what he had said. He seemed genuinely concerned over whether Hermione lived or died, and appalled that Hermione didn't get that. And what about the end of his shouting when he had said that he had saved her so he wouldn't have to watch her die? And why was that selfish of him? She actually thought quite fondly on that point, though her stand could have been biased because hers had been the life in peril.
"Shit," Malfoy cursed, coming into the room with a food plate in hand. He had seen Hermione's arm bleeding once again and placed the place on a small end table she had not noticed before and hurried to grab a towel from the other end of the bed. It was pink, but she could tell it used to be white. Malfoy must have used it a lot these past two days. He pressed it to her arm and it quickly soaked up the blood spilling from her cuts. "Go ahead and eat." Malfoy nodded to the plate. Hermione's stomach rumbled in agreement and she reached out and set the plate of food on her lap.
On the place was a chunk of a baggette and two cold raviolis smeared with red sauce. There was no fork, but she dug in without questioning it. The French bread was hard and nearly stale, and the ravioli were slimy and unappetizing. Once they slid down her throat she had a feeling they would be back up fairly soon.
"Ugh," Hermione groaned at the thought.
"What?" Malfoy asked.
"I just have a bad feeling that those ravioli might be rejoining us soon," she told him.
Malfoy laughed, and Hermione thought that was highly inappropriate. "What?" she snapped.
"The way you said that. Instead of 'I'm going to hurl'." Hermione laughed too, though it didn't help her stomach any.
"Do you just hold that towel there until I stop bleeding?" Hermione inquired.
Malfoy nodded, "Yes."
"How long does it usually bleed?"
"It usually bleeds for five or six hours," Malfoy told her.
"W-what?" Hermione stuttered. She was shocked, not only at how long she bled at one time, but how long Malfoy sat and took care of her!
"I can't just let you bleed to death, what else do you propose I do?" Malfoy snapped. Hermione didn't answer, but tried to focus on not throwing up. This worked for a while, but the salivating was disgusting.
"Malfoy," she hissed after a half an hour. "I'm going to - " Hermione was cut off by the content of her stomach.
"Shit! A little warning, Granger!" Malfoy yelled, jumping up to get out of the way.
The actual hurling didn't last long, but Hermione shook with dry heaves as her body tried to dispel every last bit of the offending substances. Malfoy didn't know what to do, so he just sat there pressing on her arm with the now soaked towel.
This lasted for about an hour, in which Malfoy just sat there and wondered what else he should do. Finally, Hermione was able to manage some words.
"Malfoy, wet rag please," she panted.
Hermione was absolutely mortified. Not only was she chained to a bed while Malfoy tended her, but now she was chained to a bed while Malfoy tended her and watched her hurl. It was insanely humiliating, but she was very glad when the Slytherin walked briskly back into the room with the wet rag she had requested. Hermione took it gratefully and wiped off her face before wiping the traces of vomit off of her lips.
"May I please have a glass of water?" Hermione asked.
"Sure, Granger," Malfoy complied.
He came back within a minute with a grungy looking plastic cup full of water. She threw back the whole thing, and just as Malfoy was about to protest to her drinking so fast, she spit it all back out into the cup.
"Thanks," Hermione said after rinsing her mouth out.
Malfoy rushed out of the door once more and came back with a pail of water and another stained towel. The pureblood grimaced as he got down on his hands and knees to clean the mess Hermione had just made. Hermione blushed furiously at this, having to be cleaned up after by Malfoy of all people.
"I could do that Malfoy…" Hermione offered.
"No you can't. You're still bleeding, and besides, I want to sleep tonight without smelling this," he said.
Hermione sat on the bed, dumbfounded. Malfoy was different, very different from the boy she had known sixth year at Hogwarts. He seemed older, more mature, but sadder somehow. Sad and compliant. He also didn't seem to mind touching Hermione's 'dirty' blood, though he'd called her a mudblood countless times before. Something in Malfoy had been broken, beaten out of him so that his cockiness and overconfidence had gone.
"Where are you going to sleep?" Hermione asked.
"Same place as you," Malfoy answered simply. "There's only one bed."
Hermione's mouth dropped open as she looked at the bed she was currently sitting on. It was a twin size, creaky old cot. The sheets that had once been white were yellowed with age, and were smeared with dirt and blood. There was a thin light brown quilt piled at the end of the bed, looking like it had been kicked off in a fitful sleep. To her right at what seemed to be the head of the bed was a neatly folded dark grey quilt, that must have acted as a pillow as there wasn't another actual pillow to be seen. The beds metal frame was pushed against a wall, and she was sitting on and chained to the outer edge.
While she had been assessing the tiny bed Malfoy had left with his bucket and towel and left only a wet spot on the floor. It was the only trace of her being sick.
Hermione thought of what he had said, that he wanted to go to sleep. It must be night then. Hermione yawned, even though she had apparently been unconscious for two days.
Malfoy appeared in the doorway and walked over to the small bed. He set Hermione's wounded arm out of the way and pushed her gingerly back toward the wall, without speaking a word. He spread the light brown quilt over her and adjusted the 'pillow' so it was large enough for the both of them. Still silent, he climbed into the bed, facing her. He pulled Hermione's arm towards him, so he could apply pressure to it once again.
"You can sleep if you're tired," Malfoy told her.
"I don't think that I'll be able to sleep next to you," she hissed. In fact, the two were even closer than just 'next to'. Their legs were touching, and the only thing that separated their torsos was Hermione's injured arm. Their faces were so close together that all they needed was the barest whisper to be heard by the other.
"I'm just as uncomfortable as you are, trust me. But no Malfoy would sleep on the floor," he said in a low voice. "So relax and sleep," he ordered.
At this Hermione had to stifle a yawn. She was mentally exhausted, as well as physically. Two days ago she had been with Harry and Ron, hunting Horcruxes across the English countryside. Now here she was, lying in a tiny cot with one of her greatest enemies and he was telling her to relax, while helping her with her eternally bleeding wound inflicted by some dark magic on a blade his own aunt had used to torture her with.
She fell asleep instantly.