Oh. My. God. You people are incredible. Those follows, favourites and reviews... I am thankful for each and every one :) Onwards we go, to a very sweary Draco Malfoy
Chapter 2: Moves
He knew where he was from the very second he opened his eyes. Not for him that sleepy, unconcerned assumption that he was in his own bed. Nor had he been favoured with any of those beautiful, hazy moments of total relaxation, that blissful cocoon of innocence before remembering just how fucked up everything was.
No, Draco Malfoy had woken up fully cognisant of his surroundings, his current helpless condition and the fact that Neville fucking Longbottom was gawking at him from the foot of the bed.
"Good morning, Malfoy. I see that you're awake."
Hark at Longbottom, with his fully functional eyesight! What an arsehole.
"H-Hermione sent me. She wanted somebody to sit with you while she's at a meeting."
Well, isn't this just wonderfuk?
"She explained everything before she left. About what happened last night. About what happened... to you."
The sympathetic look that passed over Longbottom's face, the empathy in his gentle, hushed voice, would normally have sent Draco into a paroxysm of scorn. As it was, he could only express his irritation by rolling his eyes.
Wait.
I can roll my eyes.
I can move my damned eyes!
Excitedly, his gaze shot around the room, taking in everything he hadn't been able to see the night before. Red and gold bedsheets... urgh. A couple of battered chairs at his bedside, thick upholstery fraying, also red and bloody gold. A desk in a corner on one side of the door, a wardrobe in another, both of which had seen better days. There was an ancient curtain, sunbleached in places, flapping gently at the side of a partially opened window – he would need to be able to move his head to see the other one. A pile of clothing, folded neatly beside his left knee caught his attention. There was a pair of black trousers, a white shirt and some underwear and socks that he recognised as his own.
Longbottom must have been following his gaze, because he spoke up again. "Professor Dumbledore had a House Elf bring all your things up from the dungeons. Everything's been checked for Dark Magic."
Draco's mood brightened momentarily at the thought of someone having to carefully test his boxers for evil intent.
"Anything that had a Slytherin crest on it was Incendio'd, though. Hermione can be a little, er... volatile when she's wound up."
He rolled his eyes again. Ah, blessed, blessed eye-rolling. How I have missed you.
His unwelcome companion ambled over to one of the gaudy armchairs and sat in it, releasing a cloud of dust.
"These rooms haven't been used for a few years," he explained to a thoroughly uninterested Draco. "Percy Weasley was the last Gryffindor Head Boy. He did his homework in here, but he slept with the other seventh-years. I don't think he was used to being so alone in the night, you know? Coming from such a big family. Still, must be nice to have that many people around you."
I knew it. I knew that the Weasleys all slept on top of each other like pigs in a pigsty.
He fell quiet again. Draco began to brood on the state of the Weasley hovel, maliciously deciding that the parents had named the house 'The Burrow' because the mother squeezed out children more often than rabbits did, when Longbottom broke the beautiful awkward silence.
"You must be bored, Malfoy. Shall I read to you?"
He responded with two very emphatic blinks. If the confused look he received in return was anything to go by, it appeared that Granger had neglected to share the code with her stupid friend. He stared in horror as Longbottom fumbled in his bag and produced a bedraggled leather-bound tome that practically screamed I Will Bore The Living Shit Right Out Of You.
"Goshawk's Guide to Herbology. My favourite." The cretin grinned toothily as he opened it to the first page and cleared his throat. "The ancient art of Herbology was first practised many thousands of years ago by the earliest wizards, whose foraging techniques..."
Fucking hell, is this what the Order does with its prisoners nowadays? Send in Longbottom to make them lose the will to live?
It could have been days, centuries, but was probably no more than an hour later when the dormitory door was flung open to reveal the glowering figure of Severus Snape.
Thank Merlin. Thank Salazar. Thank fuck.
In that moment, Draco was prepared to love, worship, have the babies of the scowling man in the doorway if it meant an end to the drone of Neville Longbottom's reading voice.
"Longbottom, what exactly are you doing?"
The boy visibly shivered. He retrieved the book – torture device – that he had dropped in terror at the professor's entrance. "I-I was reading, sir. To Malfoy. I thought he m-might be bored-"
"Ten points from Gryffindor for the harassment of a fellow student."
Justice. Had his face been mobile, Draco would have shown off his most triumphant smirk.
Longbottom began to stutter a reply, but was quickly cut off. "Would you like to make it twenty points? And a detention? No? Then leave. Immediately."
It was the fastest that Draco had ever seen Longbottom move. His progress through the door was impeded by the appearance of Granger, who noticed his nervy, shaking posture – he looks like he's about to wet himself – and offered him a pat on the arm and an encouraging smile. Draco tracked every movement with his newly active eyes.
With the idiot gone, Snape advanced on Draco and cast a diagnostic spell. "Well, Mr Malfoy, your vital signs appear to have stabilised-"
"His eyes," said Granger, closing the door and padding closer to the bed. "Professor, he's moving his eyes!"
Snape stilled. "An improvement?"
"Yes! They were fixed yesterday, staring straight ahead. Now he's moving them!"
Both were watching him closely, disbelievingly. Draco's discomfort at their scrutiny mingled with a growing sense of excitement.
This is good. Holy fuck, this is excellent! Whatever they did last night is working. I'll be out of this disgusting pit soon, I can go home...
Home. His brief bubble of euphoria burst violently. He probably didn't have a home anymore. Or parents, for that matter.
Don't think about that. Don't think about that. Don't think about...
"With such a speedy recovery-"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Miss Granger. Mr Malfoy still has a long way to go. However, I will grant you that this is a very reassuring development."
Granger nodded obediently, but the disappointment on her face was plain to see. The sight of it provoked Draco into a rage.
Oh, well, I'm very sorry that my curse is such a fucking inconvenience to you, Granger, when it's proving to be a lovely fucking holiday for me! Here I am, stuck in my own body, and more to the point, stuck with you, and you're the one who's disappointed? My entire life is in fucking ruins, you prissy bitch, how dare you look at me like I've just stamped on your fucking cat...
"Miss Granger, get out. You're upsetting the patient."
"But, sir! Honestly, how can I be-"
"Do as I say."
With a huff of indignation, Granger slanted them a glare and stalked out, slamming the door shut behind her. Now that the Mudblood was gone, Draco could focus his ill-temper on his professor.
Bloody Legilimens bastard, coming in here and reading my mind, insinuating that I would be the least bit affected by anything Hermione fucking Granger has to say...
"Are you quite finished?"
No, not yet, as it happens. Look at you, standing there, wearing your ridiculous bat-wing cloak and pretending that last night you didn't just casually reveal that you had switched fucking sides!
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Bat-wing cloak?"
If I wasn't totally fucking paralysed, we'd be seeing if you could still look smug with my fist embedded in your face.
"Despite what you may think of me, however harshly you may judge my actions, I would have you know that ensuring your safety has always been one of my top priorities. Even without the Vow I made to your mother, I am committed to your well-being."
Is she safe, at least?
"I cannot give you any news of her. I have none."
Bastard. How long have you been screwing my family over for the Order?
"Your family needed no help of mine in screwing itself over. Now, if you're quite done with your mood swings, I'd like to get on with the original reason for my visit."
He moved to stand by the scarred old desk, depositing several bottles there, all filled with potions of various colours and consistencies.
"Your treatments. I don't know how well they'll work; my research is still in its early stages, but the progress you've already made seems rather promising."
Very fucking promising.
Snape threw him a quelling look before he continued. "As you have already heard, I would not get my hopes up at this stage. There is no way of telling how long your recovery will take, if indeed there is a recovery at all. Miss Granger will be acting as your Healer. She has been given strict instructions as to dosages, timings and so forth. She will also be documenting any changes in your condition and reporting back to me."
Fantastic. I'm the swotty mudblood's latest extra credit project.
The professor scoffed. "Might I remind you that that swotty mudblood has agreed, at no small amount of inconvenience to herself, to change her schedules, alter her living arrangements and give up all of her free time to come and care for you, the boy who has bullied her mercilessly for years?"
One hundred points to Gryffindor for possessing such a bleeding-heart do-gooder. It's not like I fucking well asked her to be here!
"No, you didn't. Yet here she is, without complaint."
Like hell is she here without complaint. Did she tell you that she'd burnt some of my clothes?
The corner of Snape's mouth twitched. "In that case, I would advise staying on her good side. I will be back to check on you in a few days."
With that, he swept out of the room, immune to the daggers that Draco was glaring at him. It only took a few minutes for a determined-looking Granger to appear in the doorway.
Here we fucking go.
I can do this. Of course I can. I'll just pretend that he's not Malfoy. I'll just pretend that he's a stranger who needs my help, and not an evil little git that should've been drowned at birth.
Hermione adopted her very best resolute expression - the one that Ron referred to as her Come-Hell-or-High-Water Face - and strode purposefully to the desk, selecting two of the bottles that Professor Snape had left for her and concentrating on what she'd need for her makeshift healing station.
She used her wand to Summon an occasional table from the Heads Common Room, which was neatly placed adjacent to the bed. Next came her ubiquitous bulging school bag. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax, and seated herself on the edge of the bed to face him.
"Good morning, Mr Malfoy. I am Hermione Granger, and I will be your Healer throughout the rest of your stay in Gryffindor Tower."
He rolled his eyes and she favoured him with a haughty sniff. "Just trying to be professional. Would you prefer, 'Good morning, Malfoy, I'm Hermione Granger and my plan to throw you in the Black Lake as the Giant Squid's breakfast was briefly entertained before being vetoed'?"
He looked away. Ooh, I'll bet he's fuming. She hid her grin and tried to focus herself on the task at hand. Reaching into her bag, she extracted two plastic syringes and held them aloft for him to see.
"I don't know how familiar you'll be with these. In the Muggle world, they're commonly used to give oral medicine to children. Getting hold of them took some doing, but I thought it'd be better than me shoving glass bottles down your gullet."
He turned his gaze back to inspect them with narrowed eyes.
"You won't catch anything from them, Malfoy," she huffed.
The grey eyes narrowed further.
"If you're uncomfortable with my methods, I'd suggest writing a letter of complaint."
His eyes were practically slits now.
With a wholly un-Gryffindor sense of schadenfreude, Hermione picked up the first bottle and carefully measured out a dose. The green-black liquid smoked ominously.
"Skele-Gro," she explained. "You fell on the Astronomy Tower and broke your right arm. You were treated for it last night, and Madam Pomfrey insists you need a small amount of this to make sure it's fully healed. Harry told me it tastes just awful, although you won't need to worry about that."
She slid a little further up the bed. "I'm going to have to touch your face now. Do try your best to fend off my pesky Muggleborn germs."
Malfoy was strangely pliable beneath her fingers as she tipped his chin back and drew his lips apart. His stare was boring holes into her, no doubt in an effort to unnerve her. She ignored it, squirting the potion into his throat and waiting for the bobbing of his Adam's apple to indicate that he'd swallowed it reflexively.
Good. One down, one to go.
The second syringe was soon filled with a viscous orange liquid and held up for his appraisal. "A blood-cleansing tincture. We studied these in fifth year, do you remember?"
He blinked once, reluctantly, and she gave him a nod before releasing it into his throat.
"It's highly unlikely that the Dormite is being carried through your bloodstream, but every possibility needs to be eliminated."
Once he'd swallowed it, Hermione Scourgified the syringes and positioned them on the table, fastidiously ensuring that they were straight and perpendicular to the bed. She quickly jotted down the timing and strengths of the doses in a notebook plucked from her bag, then turned her head to face him again with a sigh.
"I really don't want to do this next bit, but apparently it's required of me." She recalled the horror she'd felt when Professor Dumbledore, eyes twinkling, had outlined some of her new duties. "Trust me, it's going to be just as excruciating for me as it will be for you."
She stood, discreetly lowering her eyes, and aimed her wand at him.
"Emoveo Malfoy's clothes!"
The Removing Spell brought the grimy robes he'd been wearing into her waiting hands. They're still warm. She suppressed a girlish shriek and quickly threw them aside, pointing her wand at the pile of clean garments that Dobby had laid out.
"Operite Malfoy."
Hermione didn't look up until the sound of rustling fabric had ended. Risking a glance at his face, she saw that he'd screwed his eyes shut tightly. His clean clothing was now, thankfully, all in place.
"Well, that's that done." She cleared her throat awkwardly. I really hope that this is one of those traumatic events that becomes a repressed memory. "Now for the rest."
Malfoy's eyes flew wide open, regarding her with mingled mortification and terror.
"It's nothing bad," she promised, choking on a laugh. "I can't imagine having to do anything worse than what I just did, but obviously you can. Accio Malfoy's wash-bag."
A small dragon hide bag, hideously expensive-looking and embossed with the initials DLM, floated out of the wardrobe and into Hermione's lap as she resumed her position on the bed. She opened it up and removed an ornately carved comb.
"Is this...ivory?!"
She received a firm blink in response.
"Isn't ivory illegal?"
Another blink, a slower one this time. Hermione guessed that he'd finally found a way to smirk without using his mouth.
"What happens to those elephants is barbaric," she muttered crossly, placing the comb in his silvery-blond hair and tapping it none-too-gently with her wand. It sprang to life and began fighting its way through the tangles. The stubble coating his pointy chin was vanished with a spell before she opened his mouth a little wider and shot in several tooth-cleaning and breath-freshening charms. Once a dentist's daughter, always a dentist's daughter, she thought wryly as she finished up his beauty regimen with a quick Scourgify of his newly-combed hair.
"There we are, all done without harming anything other than my self-respect." She put his toiletry bag aside after a surreptitious inspection of the contents. Just how many beauty products does a teenage boy need? She tutted and shook her head.
"I'm going to move you now, Malfoy. I've done some reading on the effects of being bedridden, and your position will need to be changed from time to time to stop you getting bed sores." She lazily flicked her wand and twisted him on the bed until he was securely laying on his left side.
With a humph of satisfaction – if I can't see his face, it's almost like he's not here! - Hermione settled into one of the red-and-gold striped armchairs, swung her feet onto the edge of the bed and Summoned An Incomplete Repository of Dark Magic Spells by Theophilus Grott. She checked her watch and sighed.
Just three hours until his next dose.
A/N: So, there we have it. Draco Malfoy without his clothes on, and Hermione didn't even look. I would have. A lot. Please review!