Chapter 5

If our grave was watered by the rain, could roses bloom?

I wake with my hand outstretched across the arm of my chair, my wrist dangling in the air. As my eyes follow the vein trickling in my forearm, my eyes reach a dainty fingertip, laced with mine. My gaze follows the ligature of her fingers, reaching her bony arm, poking out from the bed sheets she's under. Her other hand is positioned underneath her cheek, on the pillow. Her hair lay in perfect swirls beside her temples.

Her eyes are wet from crying, and her cheeks are rosy from warmth. I smile and move to intertwine my fingers with hers, fully. She shifts slightly, her grip on my hand tightening. She quietly mumbles something incoherent, and I move forwards, to push a curl away from her face.

What do you think you're doing? She'll never be yours.

'You have soft hands.'

The sound of her voice startles me away from my self deprecating mind and causes me to stand stiffly, as if a hot metal pole had been thrust into my spine.

'I, um, my hands,' I run my fingers through my hair and rub my palm against my thigh to remove the lining of sweat beginning to form, 'Are what?'

She slowly sits up, rubbing her eyes as she does. 'There's nothing to be afraid of, you only held my han-'

But before Granger could finish her sentence, my head whipped to the door, listening deeper for the sound of curses and hexes being shouted at down the hall. Granger heard this too, but she neither of us reacted until we heard the scream.

I bolted to the door, causing it to go flying with a wave of my hand, Granger followed behind me, quickly. We could hear repeated calls of help, and used these to discover Dolohov laying on the floor, bleeding profusely from his leg.

I immediately recognised the damage, and knew at once what had caused this, remembering the searing pain, the burning.

Surely she remembers. You can hear her shouting at him.

I freeze upright, staring at the pooling blood on the marble floor, Granger's voice fills my ears and I strain them to listen.

'Malfoy! Malfoy I-'

My hands moved to my belt, still fixed on my waist after falling asleep before changing last night. My fingers worked the buckle and within seconds she had it tied around the gash on his thigh, pulling as hard as she could to reduce the bleeding, but her arms were so frail. Her knuckles were white, her arms shaking when I replaced her hold with my own. She got up immediately, blood staining her front as she looked around frantically trying to piece together what she wanted to say.

My mouth worked before my brain could formulate the sentence; 'Hermione, kitchen, second cabinet from the left.'

'No, those won't work. You know it.'

Dolohov grunted as I tightened the grip on my belt. His hand rising to his chest, where another wound lay. With one hand I removed my shirt, using it to put pressure on the slash on his collar bone. Her hands dove into her hair pulling on it as she screamed. I winced, trying to formulate what to do.

'Hermione, we're losing him.'

'Shut it Harr-'

Being called him didn't hurt as I imagined it would. Her eyes lit up, and instantly, like clockwork, she bent down, kneeling next to him. She placed her hands over his wounds, and began mumbling in Latin, 'Vulnera Sanentur.'

With her wounds, the blood that stained his clothing and had started to dry on the floor, began to trickle backwards, as if her words had reversed time. She kept repeating it, until his gashes knitted themselves into horrid scars.

Remember's my bareness, I began to trace my own defects, caused by the same curse. Insecurity fell over me, as Granger started to shake.

I don't think it quite registered with her that she was saving the life of someone who'd murder her if he was aware she had her hands on him. Perhaps it wouldn't matter to her, perhaps she'd save him regardless. She's good at that, saving people.

She wouldn't want to save you.

'Granger,' I spoke, but her eyes remained fixed on his hands. I cleared my throat and leaned towards her, 'Hermione, can you hear me?'

She gave a slight nod and I placed my hand on hers, feeling them rattle beneath me. 'Go back to my room, I'll carry him out, can you do that for me?'

She didn't respond but began shuffle out of the hallway as I clambered Dolohov's unresponsive body into my arms.

As I returned to my room, I could hear the muffled sobs leaving her body, and I waited a moment, by the door. How could someone so utterly phenomenal, so irrevocably talented, become so broken?

I turned the door knob slightly, entering the room as softly as I could. She sat on the opposite side of my room, huddled into a corner, reducing herself until she looked like a ball of fluffy brunette hair. I walked slowly towards her, careful not to startle her while she's so vulnerable. She looked up towards me, attempting to back away into the wall as if it were possible. I remained a distance from her, and sat with my body facing her, my back against the side of my bed. I reached out my index finger reminiscent of this morning, and she gently, innocently, wrapped her small palm around it. We remained like that for a short amount of time, before she cautiously laced her fingers with mine. I moved my legs, so I didn't appear so closed off, and she gradually inched herself closer to me. I raised an arm, half expecting her to recoil away from it, as if it were some great snake, but to my surprise, she lent towards it, slotting her small frame into the cove it created. She rested her head on my chest, for a few minutes, before shifting and laying it upon my lap. I kept my arm on her shoulder, tentatively waiting for her to shiver at my touch, but it never came. Her sobbing slowed, however the glitter of tears still stained her cheeks, until her breathing flattened and she drifted to sleep.

I sat there, possibly for hours, just marveling at her beauty, her tranquil state of effortless perfection. Her skin was paler in sleep, not adorned with her trademark blush. She was completely at peace, how I wish she could feel as calm as she appears here, always.

She awoke to the sound of the manor doors closing. Both of us rose slowly, as I located a shirt she moved towards the door.

Lucius' cold gaze met us in the hallway.

'What ever happened to you to?'

His eyes remained fixed on Granger's shirt, staring at the crimson soaked fabric, as he disapprovingly moved upwards towards her face, awaiting an answer.

'Someone was hurt, I don't know his name,' she looks to me.

'Dolohov,' I continued, 'Granger attended to him, hence her disarray, he's in his quarters, he'll live.

Lucius shook his head in disgust.

'What happened to him? Couldn't have been more than a hex,' he spat, towards Granger, implying incompetence.

I coughed, bringing his attention back to me, his only son; 'No, Lucius. It was Snape's Curse.'

Granger's eyes fell to the floor at his name. I imagine she might have respected him, if she knew, the effort he went to, to protect Harry. The effort he went to, to spy for her side.

If only the same could be said of you.

Lucius snatched Granger by the arm, lurching her forward, walking towards the drawing room where I imagine the others were waiting. I stalked closely behind them, commanding every fiber of my being to not break his hand.

He waved the large dark oak wood open, turning heads as he shoved her inside. Everyone remained standing, clumped in social groups, likely speculating on whatever she's doing here.

He sat at the end, his lips curling at the sight of me, my stomach turning with them.

'Ah, Draco my boy, come, tell us what has happened here.'

I walked forward, pushing past Lucius. 'Sir, Dolohov was attacked. I am unsure as to whom did so, they had fled before I managed to investigate, and Granger and I wre rather preoccupied, saving his life.'

He digested this, then laughed. 'You mean to tell me, the Mudblood can heal?'

Granger didn't so much as flinch at this, I however, felt my blood heat.

'Yes, rather magnificently, however, Dolohov's situation was far more dire than some simply potions and incantations. Someone had used Sectumsempra. Luckily she knew the counter curse.'

There was a sudden rustle of fabric, and movement of people, and eye's I had not seen for quite some time met mine. Severus acknowledged me briefly before turning to Granger.

'You used the counter curse? How many times?'

She appeared frozen in her place. She likely hadn't seen him since Dumbledore's death, since Snape tried to take over the school. But she spoke, without falter.

'The scars will heal, he'll need essence of Dittany if he wishes to reduce the chance of scaring.'

He didn't say another word, simply returned back to his original place, and began calculating to himself, possibly trying to work out who in our members would have the knowledge to do such a thing.

I trained my gaze back to His, awaiting a response to my statement; 'Well, what a shame, Two people will have to miss the ball.'

'Ball, Sir?'

Bellatrix spoke, in his place. 'It's been almost a year since the Battle of Hogwarts my dear,' she giggled. I quickly glanced at Granger, who stiffened at her voice. 'We're celebrating, you know, since we won.' Her cackles filled the room once again.

He rose from his chair, everyone turning towards him for command. 'If there isn't anything else my boy, we must be off, we have invitations to send,' he smiled at my child like aunt, 'And you have a tool to sharpen.'

'Sir, might Granger come to this ball? As reward, for her knowledge and quick wit?'

She faced me, wide eyed. As did most of the room. Severus simply smirked in approval.

His face hardened. 'Don't be absurd. Healer or not, the ballroom is no place for filth.'

It took everything I had not to scream.