Chapter Three
Beads of sweat was dotting Hermione's forehead as she lifted Malfoy from her carpet, leaving behind his wet form and spots of his blood. She dropped him carefully on her couch, heaving in great gulps of breath past the stitch in her side.
She waved her wand, each of her lamps clicking on. She was left breathless once more. Malfoy looked even worse than he had by night's grace.
Taking a seat next to him, her hip touched his. She had never touched him before. Except for the time her hand met his cheek in their Third Year. It was anything but a sweet caress. He sported a bright red mark all the way down to the sanctuary of the Slytherin Dungeons.
Pressing the tip of her wand to each of his wounds she muttered healing spells. She wasn't the most adept Healer, but she was adequate, and it would do. It did for Harry and Ron when they searched for the Horcruxes. That was so long ago... So much had changed, and for the better. Perhaps the same could be said about the man before her.
She removed his shoes and socks to make him more comfortable, and moved her wand from the top of his head to his toes, drying him. His otherwise nice clothes were torn and dirtied, but it would have to do, she wasn't about to dress him, even if she did have something he could wear, which she didn't.
From her hallway closet she took out a thick blanket, laying it over him. He still did not wake up. She wondered how long it would be, and if she should stay close by him for the night. She took out another blanket, and like her late cat Crookshanks, she curled up in a recliner in the corner.
Hermione gazed at Malfoy for a long time. She observed how light his hair was, like tangible moonlight and how nice it looked when it wasn't slicked back to accentuate the pointed facets of his face. He was peaceful as he slept, less harming than he was when he was awake. She let her mind wander to ideals of him being good, no longer the selfish, egotistical bully he was in school. It was possible, for people changed when they grew older. And it was a nice thought that she comforted herself with until sleep overcame her.
Shortly after the sun rose, Hermione stirred. Her bones stiff from her unusual sleeping position she stretched them out. Seeing that Malfoy was still in his dreams, she shuffled to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee, snapping the red button down, the dropping becoming a pour.
She then returned to the lounge and sat on the edge of the couch. A strand of his hair had fallen and swept over his brow. She raised her hand over it, and doubtfully she ran her forefinger over the strand, feeling its softness before curling it behind his ear. It was a consolatory act, and she only knew that she felt empathy for him, she felt her maternal side crying to help him, regardless of who he was.
Malfoy moaned and she took her hand back in time that he opened his gray eyes, blinking before apparently deciding what he saw was indeed real. "Granger," he drawled in question. "What the bloody hell are you doing?"
"Healing you," she answered tenderly, hoping to diffuse the anger in his timbre. "I found you outside the Leaky Cauldron. What happened?"
"None of your business," he retorted rudely as he pushed her aside, sitting up checking himself.
"How did you become hurt?" She was afraid she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from him. She wanted to know for certain, and once she knew, she could offer her services. She wanted to help him for no other reason than she could make a extraordinary difference with the person who would be able to make an impression on everyone.
"What do you think? I was in a fight."
She decided to ignore his brashness. She would never expect less from him. "What were you thinking," she sighed. "Do you know what's happening to purebloods these days?"
"I'm a pureblood, of course I know! Damn it, Granger, you were a lot smarter in school."
She scowled. "You have a poor way of thanking someone."
"What do you call it, eh? Taking an old enemy to your house to fix? And for your information, no one asked you to help me." He patted his hips and chest. "Where's my wand? What did you do with it?"
"You lost it in your fight."
"I know you have it, Granger. Give it back."
"Why not try asking nicely, for once."
"What the bloody well for? It's my wand! I could have you arrested for stealing."
"Helping!" She corrected.
"If you have my wand then it's stealing, Granger. You're a lawyer, don't you know you're own laws?"
"If. Exactly. You don't know that I have it."
His face became red, his hands balling into fists at his side. She wondered if he would hit her. She had hit him before, she wouldn't put it past him, but Malfoy wasn't entirely dense. She had two wands, he had none, and while he wasn't beyond fighting like a Muggle, she wasn't beyond cursing him, and they both knew that she had the upper hand.
"If I give you your wand, are you going to hex me," she asked.
"Potty would shut me in Azkaban - and trust me little mudblood, you are not worth wasting time on. I feel myself soiling as we speak."
Hermione withdrew his wand from her back pocket, and handed it to him. Granted that for a split second she thought of cursing him to tomorrow. "If you are alright now, Malfoy, please see yourself out."
"Gladly!" He snatched his wand from her, and hobbled straight to the door, slamming it hard enough to make the window panes tremble.
She was foolish for thinking that it was possible for him to have changed. Maybe Ron was right, and there were some people that never did.
Her eyes found the red clumps in her carpet where his blood had thickened and dried. When she stood to clean it, there was a knock. She took a step to answer it, but it opened and he stood there, his eyes downward, as if he was... Ashamed.
"Thank... You."
"What?" She must've heard that wrong. Malfoy didn't thank her, he was incapable of such a polite act, or any polite act for that matter.
"I said, thank you. For... Everything." He raised his head, as if reaching the decision to be pompous once more. "I will not say it ever again, you have my word. I don't want your help. If you see me lying about somewhere, leave me to die."
"I wouldn't dream of helping you again," she said, but not at all as cold as she was meaning to sound.
Before she could gather coherent thoughts to why he said thank you, he left once more.
Her head was spinning, unable to wrap itself around the bizarre events that had just occurred. She had found Malfoy hurt, took him home and healed him before he walked out like a tempered child. That she could comprehend, but him thanking her? That was surreal, and very un-Malfoy-like. Perhaps... He had grown up.
She smiled to herself, and pointed her wand at the carpet. That was the last time she'd have to deal with Draco Malfoy, and life could go on as normal.
At least... So she thought.
