Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.


The cave was just as she remembered it. She, Harry and Ron had only stayed here for a night before moving on, much to her dismay. They complained it was too small, too remote to be able to find food and hide comfortably.

Not that they were ever really comfortable on the run, but she suspected the boys found the cave a bit too claustrophobic for their liking.

Hermione disagreed. From the minute she found the cave, she felt welcomed and safe. It was dry, exceptionally well hidden, and was located in a remote but extremely stunning part of the mountainous region they had been crossing. She would have been happy to stay there for months, had the boys let her.

Not only that, but the cave calmed her. It was as though it contained some deep, soothing magic that spoke directly to her soul. Ron and Harry didn't seem to notice it, but to Hermione, the cave practically hummed with warmth.

Now she was here again, the familiar calming hum surrounding her, and she couldn't be more thankful. Being separated from Harry and Ron, not to mention the presence of the broken body in front of her, was enough to keep her on the brink of panic. She needed the steady rhythm she knew the cave would provide. She also knew, although she couldn't explain it, that the cave would keep her safe.

The body in front of her stirred, and Hermione looked down, seeing the damage up close for the first time.

Blood. So much blood. Blood dripping across the boy's chest and down his arms, leaking off his fingers. Deep stains on the legs of his jeans. Blood soaking through the hood that covered his face and head. Hermione shuddered to think of the damage hiding underneath. The sharp smell of the blood was inescapable, filling up the small cave within seconds.

She felt her stomach heave, and stumbled to the mouth of the cave to be sick. Harry and Ron had seen their share of bad injuries over the past year and a half, all healed by her, but this was different. The scope of the damage was far worse, for one. She didn't even know if she could heal the wounds, as much as her skills had improved thanks to an unwelcome amount of practical application.

But besides that, this person was a stranger. She knew Harry and Ron so well, both their minds, and their bodies. Ron, for example, had a click in his left elbow because of a bone that healed badly as a child. Harry had extremely sensitive skin on his left hip from being burned by a terrible hex six months ago. Hermione could identify and explain every scar on their bodies. She knew what made them tick. She wouldn't hesitate to strip them down and heal them, modesty be damned.

But this person? He was bleeding his life out in front of her, and she was terrified to act. Part of her fear was practical - if what she heard was correct, this individual had been working for Voldemort until recently. What if they still were, despite what the Death Eaters had said? What if she was putting herself in immense danger?

On an impractical note, Hermione hadn't spent time with anyone other than Harry and Ron for the past year and a half. Something about being in the presence of someone unknown was deeply unsettling to her. She was too far out of her comfort zone, as fucked up as her comfort zone might be. Even she could admit how strange that was.

Too bad you didn't consider any of this when you butted in to a dangerous situation.

Oh, who was she kidding? She had been living a 'dangerous situation' for longer than she could remember. Besides, danger or not, she had to act. And since she had acted, she had to finish what she started. That meant keeping this boy alive.

Consequently? That meant healing him.

Which means I have to look at his injuries, wherever they are.

She gulped, fought down another wave of nausea, and moved back towards the body. He was unconscious, as far as she could tell.

Deep breath. Start with the skull.

With trembling hands, she pulled at the string holding the hood onto the boy's head, gingerly pulling the fabric back to reveal his face.

And then she screamed.

This was far worse than treating a stranger. This was far worse than she had ever imagined.

Lying before her, barely recognizable beyond the swelling and the blood, but still very much himself, was Draco Malfoy.


No. No no no no. It can't be him. Him of all people.

She crouched there, immobile with shock.

His broken face lay unmoving, his eyes closed, puffy and blue. Everything about this situation was wrong. Hermione felt her strength slip and started to cry, rocking back and forth with her knees pulled into her chest. Her cracked sobs echoed through the cave. The tears wouldn't stop. They seemed to be pulled from her core, pouring down her cheeks in a river of grief.

It can't be. It doesn't make sense.

If anything, she only unraveled further the longer she looked at him. It was both confusing and terrifying to see him like this, he being the one who always came off as being so untouchable, so confident. Malfoy, after all, was the one to teach her about blood prejudice before she even knew how Voldemort would dictate her future. Their future, as it turned out.

A strange sense of mourning took over her then.

This was not the strutting, viper-tongued bully she despised. This was, if the Death Eaters were to be believed, someone who had turned his back on the Dark Lord, for a reason Hermione could scarcely imagine. She mourned for the Pureblooded boy who was now dressed in Muggle clothes, barely holding together his broken body. She mourned because she knew, no matter what he had done to her in the past, it no longer mattered. He was now Draco Malfoy, former schoolmate, life hanging by a thread, in need of help.

She mourned as her last shred of innocence was stripped away by the war.

She swallowed, took a shuddering breath, and then she unzipped his sweatshirt.

The damage was obvious even before she got his t-shirt off. The clean lines bled right through the cotton, straight across his chest.

TRAITOR

"Oh, Malfoy…" she whispered.

It looked like it had been hacked into him with a knife, the words trailing from one shoulder to the other, dripping down his front.

A muffled groan escaped her lips.

As she continued, peeling off layer after layer, healing what she could, she took inventory.

Cracked skull.

Broken nose.

Broken cheekbone.

Bruised jaw.

Eyes swollen shut.

Bruising around throat - attempted strangling?

TRAITOR cut into chest.

Five broken ribs.

Extensive bruising on torso.

Deep cuts on thighs.

Broken ankle.

And that's only what she could see.

He was stripped to his boxers now - no need to divest him of that final shred of dignity - and she found herself hesitating only briefly before dipping her hands into her healing salve and smoothing it over every exposed inch of his skin.

Heal him. Pretend you're treating Harry or Ron.

As she worked, she realized how miraculous it was that she even had her healing supplies in her bag. It was hardly a purposeful action on her part; simply an oversight, a mistake that they weren't sitting out in the tent as they often were. There was no doubt in her mind that he would die without them, and even with her help, she was nervous that his body might just give up on him. There was just so much trauma.

Please don't die on me, Malfoy. Don't give Voldemort the satisfaction. Be a fighter.

The parts of his body that weren't swollen or cut were extremely soft, and she took her time running her fingers along the pale expanse of his form. It was almost meditative, pressing the medicine into each cut, sliding it across his cheekbones, down his bruised neck... He would never know that she had done this, not if she could help it, so she let herself enjoy the zen-like state she was in. It was a surprising discovery, his smooth skin. Malfoy had such a prickly personality, after all. She would have been less surprised if he was covered in scales.

She paused over his forearm at the dark stain that marred his otherwise pearly skin. The Dark Mark. It was so ugly, so vile. It had no place on someone so young, even if they had been bred for this since birth. She skipped that area delicately, not wishing to touch it.

The potion was working its magic now, and the bruising and cuts were slowly starting to heal, hissing as the mixture reached the more irritated parts. It was a satisfying process, and she took a minute to watch his bruises fade from his body. The finger marks around his neck took the longest to heal. Her suspicions had been correct - strangulation - but she wished more than anything that she could have been wrong.

Nobody deserves this. God Malfoy... What did you do?

Hermione knew that she would need to give him a bone-growing potion, but she was worried about it. It would be immeasurably painful, especially with the sheer number of breaks he had. Although he was already unconscious, she couldn't risk him waking up while his bones were re-growing. She cringed at the thought of him waking up, nearly naked, in incredible pain, with his least favourite Mudblood hovering over him.

That would be a quick death for her, no doubt. She repressed a smirk at the image in her mind. It would be comical if it didn't involve a certain end to her life.

Death by naked, angry Malfoy.

She wrinkled her nose and chanced a grin. Okay, it was a funny thought after all.

An idea occurred to her, and after hesitating a moment, she pointed her wand at his chest and stunned him. It would go unnoticed to him in this state, of course, but it would guarantee her several hours of undisturbed working time, and perhaps more if he remained unconscious after the spell wore off. No chance of him waking up in unmanageable pain, no chance of him waking up before she was ready.

Hopefully she would be able to revive him when all this was healed.

As for his reaction when he did wake? Well, she'd just make sure she was prepared.

In the meantime, she had a rather unpleasant task to complete. While she had taken care of his superficial injuries, and would soon give him something for his bones, she knew he needed a proper bath. No amount of scourgify would get that blood off him, and now that his cuts had sealed, it was as good a time as any.

Finding a place to bathe him? That was another problem all together.


After gently opening Malfoy's mouth and pouring the bone re-growing potion down his throat, Hermione stood up and took stock of what she had at her disposal.

The hammock. Well that was going to make for an interesting sleeping situation. The cave was too small to set up more than one hammock anyway, even if she managed to transfigure one of her few items.

A cooking pot and a set of utensils.

One blanket.

A metal bucket she had used to collect edible things in the forest.

A pile of books.

Healing supplies and some potions ingredients.

A bar of everlasting soap.

Since she really didn't want to levitate Malfoy to the nearest stream, she would have to make do with what she had. With a sigh, she picked up the bucket, and began to transfigure it. First, she made it taller. The she made it wider. With a sweep of her arm, she elongated it until it was exactly what she wanted it to be: a slightly awkward looking metal bathtub. Another flick of her wand, and the bath was full of water. A last charm, and the water was hot.

Glancing anxiously over at Malfoy, she was relieved to see that he actually looked peaceful, lying on the blanket as though he was asleep. If it weren't for the dried blood caking his body and staining his hair, he would look almost angelic.

This is weird. Completely fucking weird.

She cleared her throat, raised a shaky hand, and levitated him into the tub. He didn't flinch as he sunk into the water - obviously not, Hermione, you knocked him out - but she let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding anyway. Part of her brain expected him to snap his eyes open, unleash a diatribe of angry insults, spit on her blood status and storm off. For all she knew, when he woke up, he might do just that.

Thank God he was wandless, at least.

For now though, she had the upper hand. She could enjoy the silence, studying his relaxed features as if for the first time. Malfoy always kept a sneer on his face at school, and it wasn't an exaggeration to say that he truly looked different without it. Hermione couldn't actually remember a time when she had seen him looking this... Peaceful. Beautiful, almost. He was a good-looking bloke; she didn't see a point in denying it. It's just that any appeal his face might have dissolved as soon as he opened his mouth. No wonder she hadn't noticed it until now.

Best take advantage of the silence while it lasts, hey there Malfoy?

Dipping her hands into the warm water, and lathering up the soap, she began to wash away the dirt and blood from his body. She avoided the area around his boxers rather nervously, not wanting to have to hide anything if he questioned her later. Not that she wanted to put her hands anywhere near his precious jewels - hah! - the very idea was laughable. He would be furious enough at the thought that she helped him, and he would no doubt figure out that she had cleaned him up. But a Mudblood touching his pride and joy? Not a chance. No way would she give him the ammunition. He already thought he was God's gift to women - there was no need to boost his ridiculous ego further.

Running her hands over his firm stomach, arms and back, she noticed that he had far more scars than she had expected. Some criss-crossed as though he had been whipped, some were mangled and wide, and some were thin gashes.

What in Merlin's name did they do to him?

The water was a murky red now, despite her attempts to keep it clear. Perhaps that was enough for one night, then. His skin was restored with a pale glow, marred only by faded bruises and angry red scars. His hair was back to that soft, silvery sheen she remembered so well, although it had grown out considerably since their school days. It hung around his collarbone now, shaggy and perfect. Hermione bit back her own annoyance - it wasn't fair that his hair looked that good after being drenched with blood only moments earlier. She knew she was projecting years of trouble with her own mane, but so be it.

She cast a quick cleaning spell on his clothes, being careful to mend a few gaping holes she found. Levitating him onto the blanket and drying him off, she gingerly dressed him again. He felt like a doll, so fragile and small. There were tremors in his arms and legs, an unconscious reaction to the bone growth potion, no doubt. She slipped on his signet ring to finish off the process, marveling at the detailed green "M" and the smooth gold band.

A short murmured charm and the hammock was ready for use. She placed Malfoy into it carefully, soaking in his quiet, calm features as if for the last time. She was off to find them some food - hopefully he would still be here when she got back. The sleeping situation would have to be dealt with later. Having not eaten for nearly two days now, getting something into her aching stomach was becoming a much more immediate concern than the possibility of sharing a hammock.

Leaning her face over his ear, she whispered: "Okay Malfoy, I did my part, now you can do yours. Get better, yeah?"

It was a plea falling on deaf ears, she knew, but she had to say it anyway. With one last look at the boy in the hammock, she turned and headed out into the night.


Hermione returned to the cave triumphant, with a wild turkey under her arm and a variety of wild greens she had scavenged. When it came to trapping food in the wild, she was eternally grateful for her wand. It was easier to kill and skin a turkey with a wand than it was to do it by hand. She shuddered at the thought of running around after a group of panicked wild birds with only her bare hands and a few sharp rocks at her disposal.

Yes, much cleaner with magic.

Within a few minutes, she had set up a makeshift spit over a small fire, and skewered the bird the way Ron had taught her. The greens could go in the cooking pot with a bit of water. Her stomach growled angrily - the food couldn't cook fast enough, really.

After she had eaten, or savagely stuffed her face, if she was being honest, she wandered over to Malfoy's unconscious frame. The strangeness of the situation hit her again.

I'm in a tiny cave with Draco Malfoy. I undressed him and gave him a bath. I healed him. And later on, I'm going to share a hammock with him and hope that he doesn't wake up and murder me.

With a shake of her head, she let out another long sigh, massaging her temples with her fingertips.

The transfigured bath caught her eye, and an idea took root in her mind. As long as Malfoy was unconscious, she might as well make the most of it. This had been the worst day in recent memory - separated from Harry and Ron, chased by snatchers, rescuing her childhood tormentor, getting elbow-deep in blood... A bath was definitely in order. She turned the tub slightly away from his sleeping face just in case he happened to open his eyes, but she was fairly confident his body would keep him under for quite a bit longer. Injuries like this could cause someone to sleep for weeks, couldn't they? One could only hope.

A few flicks of her wand, and the bath was full of hot, clean water. Hermione hesitated before stripping off her clothes, deciding to levitate the blanket in front of her body while she dropped her dusty layers. Just to be safe. She may have lost some of her modesty hanging out with Harry and Ron, but Malfoy was a different story.

That's an understatement!

The water was steaming hot as she eased herself into the bath, wincing as it came into contact with her impressive collection of cuts and bruises. She had been so busy healing Malfoy that she hadn't bothered to look herself over. Not too bad - a wide cut on her calf, a series of scrapes on her arms, and more bruises than she could count. A chuckle escaped her lips when she realized she had no idea when she had acquired this new set of injuries.

So it goes.

Her thoughts drifted back to Harry and Ron, and she let herself sink into some of her happier memories of them to ease her anxiety. Most of her favourite moments happened at Hogwarts, but she had a few from the Burrow as well. The past year and a half was intense, emotionally damaging and incredibly trying, but she was able to glean a handful of cheerful moments from their times in hiding anyway. With a satisfied smile, she closed her eyes and let the water soak into her skin, washing away months of hard-earned dirt. Eventually, she tucked her head under the surface of the water, and enjoyed the feeling of her hair being so weightless. It didn't happen often. Her mane reached the small of her back now, longer than she had ever kept it. She grabbed the soap and scrubbed herself down mercilessly.

It was a good hour later before she finally stepped out of the tub, checking Malfoy's sleeping face every few seconds while she dried off and dressed herself. The passage of time was a murky thing in this cave, when so little light could get in even on the brightest days. She guessed it was around 1 a.m., but it felt like she hadn't slept in days.

Hermione tiptoed over to the hammock, peering in at Malfoy's still body. It was either share the hammock or sleep on the cold, sandy ground, and frankly? There was no way in hell she was going to do that when there was an excellent chance he wouldn't wake up tonight. He was already mostly shifted to the right side of the hammock, lying on his back, his head tilted towards her.

Okay, just crawl in on the left side and try not to crowd him.

It was much easier said than done, and she wrestled with the edge of the fabric for several minutes before tumbling not-so-gracefully into the belly of the bed, clunking into Malfoy's soft body. He didn't stir. Groaning with embarrassment, she turned herself carefully away from her bunkmate, and fell into a fitful sleep.