He was swimming in fire. Everything burned, his flesh sizzling off bone. All the pain radiating from somewhere on his thigh, though he couldn't concentrate enough to pinpoint it. He would have screamed if possible, but the only thing he could do was grit his teeth and deal with it.
He deserved it. Draco thought hazily, that perhaps this is what the muggles called hell. That fiery place in which the sinners go. Those who were evil in their lives like him and his family.
It was so strange then, when he had finally accepted this punishment, that he felt something cold. Not pleasant but not painful either. In a way it became worse than the fire, his legs shaking with the intense difference.
And he was waking then. The fever induced sleep was coming off in layers, peeling away from the painful nightmare. But the fire stayed, battling with the new and terrible cold.
His eyes opened, glazed and hazy, searching for the source of his discomfort. Blurry shadows were dancing in front of him but one he knew. One specific shadow, with its wild hair and clean scent.
"Hermione." He coughed, his throat having become so dry it felt like he'd swallowed ash.
"You're awake!" She whispered, her face coming close. He could now see the shape of it, not quite the details. He wanted to reach out to touch her, if only to know he wasn't actually dead but the light was fading now and he knew he was going to pass out.
It must have been hours before he awoke again because there was not the natural light that normally came from the sun. Instead there was bright light that flickered behind his closed lids. His limbs were heavy and numb and the pounding in his head was so intense but the heat and cold were mostly gone.
Draco stayed very still as he sensed his surroundings. He listened intently and even smelled for strange scents. Soap, muggle coffee, and something like metal. Something he remembered with a sickening stomach.
"Don't try to move, please. You'll ruin the sealant spell I placed." Hermione spoke, close to where he lie. He must not have been as still as he thought.
He tried to speak but ended up coughing, though he did manage to keep his lower half still. Before he knew what was happening, his head was being lifted by a small but strong hand and he felt the sweet coolness of liquid touch his lips. He hesitated, an instinct that had been taught the hard way.
"Oh, come on Malfoy. I'm not going to poison you after saving you." She scoffed. He knew she wasn't going to kill him. But that didn't mean he trusted her.
Still, he had few options, what with being unmovable and all. So he opened his lips and let the fluid in, pleased that it calmed the burning ache in his throat. He felt it pool in his stomach and soon his body began to feel less achy. A healing potion. He should have known.
"Thank you." He managed, blinking away the sleepy fogginess. He didn't like not seeing, not moving, and especially not knowing. He had absolutely no idea why she was here, let alone helping him of all people.
The room became silent and he watched her figure drift over to the fire to throw another log on. Her body was illuminated by the orange glow as it cast long shadows across his single roomed cabin. Draco had spent many years watching this girl for many different reasons but never quite like this.
She turned to him then, a look of pain crossing her face. He was immediately on guard, flashes of her face from that horrible day back in Malfoy Manor making his stomach knot painfully.
"I am so sorry." She began, one small hand was rubbing her other arm. It was a subconscious move, one he knew meant she was uncomfortable. That would make two of them. "It was my fault the Pooka sliced you. I was chasing it because I need information and… And I'm sorry." Here, she looked back into he flames.
Draco was distracted by the way she was biting her lip and avoiding his eyes. It took a moment for his brain to catch up but when it did, he felt the earth tilt a bit. He shimmied up on his elbows and looked at the damage. What he couldn't anticipate was the blackened skin and the long red gash that still bled, if only a little.
She was standing next to him suddenly, her hands gingerly folding back the cloth that covered his torso. Long dark grey lines spread like tree roots from the wound, creeping up his stomach and down his right leg. He looked up to her, shocked to find genuine fear and worry dancing through her eyes.
"I had no idea that this would happen." She said softly, her voice tense. Draco's first instinct was to be angry. He wanted to blame her and shout and to be cruel. Be in the same breath, he knew that it really wasn't what he wanted.
No. He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing and listened to the crackle of the fire. He felt the need to thank her for all she'd done and ask her to leave so he could just die alone like he deserved.
But before he could say a thing, he realized she was still talking in that almost too fast way she had about her.
"The old man, he barely spoke English, but he helped me a bit. You were fevered for days. I tried to use my floo powder to take you to St. Mungos but it didn't work." She explained, waving her hands this way and that. Of course it wouldn't have worked. He hadn't set the floo charm. He never expected to use it, nor anyone else. Still he remained silent, not sure what to say. It had been so long since he had to speak with anyone, let alone someone from his past.
"Malfoy, I… I don't know how to stop this." She finally whispered, flouncing down on the stool next to his cot. He realized now, he'd been moved from the large chair. And that all of his clothes were missing.
Fighting the urge to cover himself, Draco instead inspected the wound with careful eyes. It looked awful but he barely felt anything. Most likely the potion she'd fed him. Another thing to be thankful for.
When the silence became unbearable and thick, he finally looked towards his school yard enemy. Her hair was thick and as chaotic as ever, though she managed it into a bun of some sort. But there were bags under her eyes and now that his own vison was clear, he could see the lines of worry tracing her face. And with it, the question he'd been avoiding all night.
"Why would you help me?"