Chapter 7:
A Turn for the Worse
Draco stirred, broke quietly from his reverie, and stretched.
He was stiff and sore—something that confused him greatly—but he was warm.
And his mouth was dry.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he swallowed thickly. Cautiously, he licked his cracked lips. It burned and he moaned, not wanting to conscious.
Shifting slightly, he was momentarily surprised when he felt the small frame of a woman pressing against him, but he quickly didn't care. Instinctively, he tightened his arm and pulled her closer to his chest. He felt the smooth, naked flesh of her back against his skin.
All thoughts of discomfort slipped silently from his mind. He pulled her tighter to his body and kissed her shoulder before biting it gently—his tongue sweeping over her hot skin as his lips nipped and nibbled at her.
She tasted of salt.
His hand played lightly over her ribcage—his thumb brushing her nipple—and he pressed his lap against her, spooning her tightly, and losing himself in the feeling of their naked bodies intertwining.
Sighing heavily, he nuzzled into her neck, burying his face into her hair.
Breathing deeply, he took in her scent and tried to go back to sleep.
A combination of shampoo, dirt, and oil hit his nose. But there was something more—an odd note mixed in.
A note that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
Furrowing his brow—his eyes still closed—he inhaled deeply.
The unknown scent invaded his nostrils once more.
Concentrating, he focused on breathing evenly, as he attempted to dissect the smell from its surrounding bouquet of odors. But it was difficult to decipher.
There was a coppery undertone to it . . . like rust and iron . . . .
Almost metallic.
Cracking an eyelid, Draco winced in the early morning light. Slowly, he rotated his head toward the ceiling. Celestial rays streamed in, casting radiant lines of light and illuminating the space around them.
He blinked once—twice—to clear his head, and slowly things began to focus.
He could see the broken earth above him, could feel the cold, hard ground beneath his body, and his pain came rushing back . . . .
He rolled his shoulders, wincing as his muscles protested.
He turned his head once more and saw a tangled mess of flattened brown curls.
And the events of last night were suddenly crystal clear in him memory.
Hermione.
He stared at the back of her head momentarily in a daze—trying to figure out why he had a sudden nagging feeling of sheer and undiluted dread in the pit of his stomach.
Moving slowly, he lifted his hand gently picked up a strand of her limp hair. Rolling it between his fingers, his anxiety deepened—the strand was crisp . . . thick . . . but slightly sticky.
He leaned forward and sniffed at the lock.
The same metallic smell assaulted his nose.
Blood.
Inhaling sharply, Draco sat up in alarm—ignoring the pain that reeled through his body.
Hermione lay curled on her side, sleeping. Yet, she was sleeping the sleep of one who was fighting a battle inside of her head. Her eyes were pressed together tightly, lines of worry covering her normally smooth skin. Her breathing was ragged and uneven, and looking down at her, she looked amazingly frail, with her body curled and her hands pressed together—her fingers wringing involuntarily against her chest.
Draco studied her face and felt physically sick when his eyes came across a gash at her hairline, just above her temple—a gash that was surrounded by a deep purple bruise.
The wound had clotted into a jagged, rough looking scab, and the section of hair that ran from the cut was stained a deep scarlet, including the piece that Draco now held in his hand.
His stomach lurched and he dropped the strand like it was on fire.
How had he not noticed this before?
Hermione moaned suddenly and shuddered in her sleep. Her face paled as tiny beads of sweat formed on her forehead. Her breathing quickened—her head tossing fretfully—as small whimpers escaped her lips.
Draco leaned over her body in trepidation. He didn't know what to do.
Moments passed.
Licking his lips once more, he apprehensively reached his hand out, brushed back her hair, and touched her face lightly with his fingertips.
With a terrified gasp, Hermione's eyes snapped open and, rolling onto her back, she slapped his hand away in alarm.
Breathing heavily, she was momentarily lost in her surroundings and she choked back a strangled sob—her eyes wide.
Blankly, she stared at him—her eyes unseeing.
Unsure of what to do, Draco stared back, a loss for words.
Finally, focus reclaimed her brown eyes and she swallowed thickly, her breathing evening out. Carefully, she studied Draco's face, her eyes falling lengthily on his concerned silvery orbs.
"You okay?" His voice seemed strained.
Weakly, she nodded and turned onto her side once more. "Yeah."
But she wasn't okay.
Her head was throbbing, creating spots of light that exploded before her eyes and made it extremely difficult to focus. Her stomach was cramping painfully, causing waves of nausea to flow through her. There was an odd ringing in her ears.
She was sore—her body reaching its limits because of the events of the last few days.
And the longer she lay on the cold, hard ground, the more she realized that it was getting progressively worse.
"Was it another nightmare?"
Hermione felt tears well in her eyes and before she could stop it, one slipped silently down her cheek. She wiped at it with hasty fingers before nodding.
"Tell me about it." Draco's voice was surprisingly gentle.
Sniffling, Hermione shook her head. "I don't remember it."
Draco frowned. "Then why are you trembling?"
"I'm cold." It was the first thing that came to her mind, and the lie slipped out easily.
The heat from Draco's body suddenly disappeared, and she felt a stab of panic in the pit of her stomach. Alarmed, she looked over her shoulder.
Draco was reaching—well, more like fumbling—a short distance away for something on the ground.
Hermione watched him in dazed fascination, her brow furrowed.
Finally, Draco found what he was looking for. Awkwardly, he crawled back to her, his discovery gripped in his fist.
Rolling onto her back, Hermione didn't even comprehend the cool air that licked at her skin. Instead, she watched Draco intently.
Draco reached her and rolled casually on to a hip, his body close to hers. He shook out the item that was wadded in his hand, and Hermione felt a sudden heat rise to her cheeks.
It was her shirt.
Leaning forward, Draco gripped her shoulders gently with his long fingers and pulled her into a seated position.
Her head screamed as she was pulled vertical, and she swayed dangerously.
Draco's hand wrapped tightly around her back, steadying her. "Whoa . . . you okay?"
Hermione nodded, her eyes closed. "Just lightheaded."
Draco scrutinized her face, his eyes lingering on the gash above her temple. She was extremely pale, and he frowned in concern. Pushing it momentarily from his mind, he reached around her and slid her shirt up over her arms.
Hermione didn't protest—her arms limp as she allowed him to dress her. She didn't even flinch when his fingers began to work the buttons on her blouse, including the ones that fell between her naked breasts.
When he was finished, he brushed a stray strand of hair from her face gently. "Hermione, look at me."
Breathing heavily through her nose, Hermione shook her head slowly. "The light hurts." Her voice was soft—her words slurring slightly.
Draco bit his lip. "Okay . . . ." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Okay . . . I'll tell you what . . . we'll go where there's no light, okay?"
"Where?"
"We're gonna go into the tunnels. The two of us. We're going to find a way out . . . okay?"
Hermione's face paled even more, a look of terror crossing her features. Her mouth turned downward, her chin trembling slightly. "No . . . no, no, no, no, no, no . . . ."
Hermione crumbled upon herself—pulling her knees up to her chest and dropping her face into them—her words mumbling almost incoherently.
Draco gripped her shoulders, trying to gain her attention. "Hermione? What is it? What's wrong?"
"Please . . . please don't make me. I can't . . . I can't. Just please . . . please . . . don't make me go." She was begging like a child.
"Why not?"
Hermione turned her head carefully. Her face was wet—coated with tears—her eyes glassy and unseeing. "There's something in the tunnels." Her voice was a haunting whisper.
Draco felt his stomach plummet, but her forced himself to remain calm. "Something in the tunnels? What's in the tunnels?"
Hermione shook her head. "I don't know."
"Did you see it?"
Hermione nodded. "It chased me . . . attacked me."
Draco's mouth went dry. "It attacked you? Where? Show me."
Hermione's hand moved absentmindedly over her neck. "Here . . . it landed on me. And then there were teeth . . . and claws . . . ." Shuddering, she broke off with a sob, her head dipping back down into her legs.
His heart pounding, Draco ripped at the collar of her shirt, his hands running over her flesh.
But her skin was smooth—unmarred.
He swallowed thickly, instantaneously filled with relief. "Hermione, you're fine."
Hermione looked up at him once more, confused. "What?"
"You're fine . . . that didn't happen."
Hermione shook her head, her brow furrowed. "No . . . no, it did. I remember."
Draco stared at her. "You're not hurt . . . it didn't happen."
Hermione stared blankly into the distance. "But I remember . . . it had to happen. Because I remember . . . . I swear . . . it was so real . . . there was something . . . ." She turned to face him again. "You believe me, don't you?"
Draco reached forward and rubbed her back in gentle, sweeping circles. Setting his jaw, he nodded.
Hermione laughed—a dry sound full of sarcasm. "No, you don't . . . because I don't even believe me. Jesus . . . I don't even know what's real or not anymore."
And he didn't believe her. In fact, he believed she was losing her goddamned mind. And he needed to do something about it.
Shifting, he slid his body from hers.
Hermione's head snapped up. "What are you doing?"
Draco was reaching for his shirt an arms' length away. "I'm going into the tunnels. I'm going to find a way out. I'll do it alone."
Hermione face blanched. She gripped at his cloak. "No . . . no please, don't leave me here alone. I can't be alone."
Draco sighed, and dropped his shirt back onto the ground.. "Look . . . you have two options: Stay here alone, or come with. Because I'm going . . . with, or without you."
"I don't want to be alone."
She clutched him, sobbing as she pulled him closer to her body.
Gently, he wrapped his arms around her shaking frame and tried to soothe her. "I'll come back for you. You have my word." He murmured the words into her hair as he smoothed his hands down her back.
Hermione pressed her face into his chest. "You shouldn't."
Draco startled and pushed her away from his body. "What? Don't you dare talk like that."
Tears fell down her cheeks, cutting tracks in the dirt and grime. "I mean it. If you find a way out, just get out. I'm not worth coming back for."
Fire flashed in Draco's eyes. "I am going to come back for you."
Hermione shook her head. "I'm serious. You get out . . . go and get someone . . . come back. I'll be alright."
Draco pulled her against his body once more. She trembled in his arms. "I'm not going to leave you. You're going to come with me . . . we'll fight this together."
She shook her head, her voice a whisper. "I can't go back in there . . . ."
"Yes, you can. I'll be with you . . . the whole way."
"You won't leave me?"
"Not for one second."
Hermione sniffled loudly. Minutes passed as muddled thoughts polluted her mind. She felt safe and warm in Draco's embrace.
Finally, she nodded. "I'll go."
Draco sighed against her hair.
"But, can we just rest a little while longer? I'm just so tired."
Draco felt a twang of anguish lick at his heart. She was so frail. "Of course."
Carefully, he lay down and pulled Hermione close to his body. Grabbing the edge of his cloak, he draped his arm tightly around her. He could feel her erratic breathing, and he brushed a piece of hair from her face.
Her head lay on his outstretched arm, her eyes closed tightly and her face lined with pain and worry.
Wrapping his hand around her head, he smoothed her hair gently and traced her jaw with his fingertips, until the lines on her face smoothed and her breathing evened out.
Leaning forward, he gently kissed her lips before pressing his lips against her forehead. Her skin was hot, and he tried to soothe it with a second kiss.
Sighing deeply, her pulled her closer and slowly allowed his eyes to close.
*************************************
Draco woke with a start.
The sun had changed in the sky, and now cast strange shadows around him that momentarily confused him of his surroundings.
He was warm—his arms still wrapped tightly around Hermione.
She was still asleep—breathing evenly—her head still on his arm.
Stretching lightly, he realized that his hands were asleep, and as he moved, his fingers tingling painfully.
Being cautious not to wake her, and cautious of her head, Draco pulled his arm from under her. Sitting up, he rolled his shoulders, wincing as he stretched his back. Using his thumb, he worked on the muscles in his hands and cracked his knuckles loudly.
He didn't know how long he had been asleep. Hell, he didn't even realize that he had fallen asleep. But, looking at the position of the sun in the sky, he guessed that it had been a few hours.
Looking around, he located his shirt, crumpled on the ground and picked it up. He shook it briefly—dirt and dust rising in a cloud above it—before sliding it over his shoulders.
He shivered as the cool material came in contact with his skin.
He tried to fasten the buttons, but his fingers refused to cooperate. Blowing into his closed fist, he tried again.
Finally, he closed the last button and leaned back. It was eerily quiet around him—save for Hermione's soft breathing.
Looking toward the darkened tunnels on the far edge of the cave, he licked his lips nervously. He looked briefly toward the sky, and knew that they were going to run out of daylight sooner rather than later.
He glanced back toward the tunnels, his heart pounding lightly against his ribs.
He knew a lot of things at that moment: He knew that he needed to rouse Hermione . . . knew that they had to go. He knew that there would be pain . . . unfathomable pain. He knew that it might be the most difficult thing he had even had to do.
But there was one thing that he didn't know: He didn't know if it was the right thing to do . . . because he didn't know if there even was a way out. And there was a chance that they could both die in the darkness, alone and scared.
But, he knew that they couldn't stay here any longer. Hermione was too sick . . . if she didn't get help soon . . . .
He shook his head, clearing it from the thought. Taking a deep breath, he assured himself that he was making the right choice and turned to look at Hermione.
He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.
Hermione lay trembling on her side, her knees drawn up tightly against her body.
In the different light, her face shone pale—her skin looking clammy, almost waxy. Her mouth was slightly agape—her lips possessing an abnormal bluish tint—and her breathing was slightly labored.
Shakily, Draco reached out his hand and gently touched her shoulder. Her eyes opened a fraction of an inch before rolling dangerously in her head.
Draco put his palm against her face. Through a thin sheen of sweat, heat radiated. Panicking, he felt at the pulse in her neck. It beat erratically beneath his fingertips.
All doubt vanished from his mind.
Untying the cloak from around his neck, he draped it over Hermione's small body, tucking it in tightly around her. She needed it now, more than him.
He leaned down, his lips inches from her ear. "I'm going to find a way out, okay? You have my word. I just need you to hold on."
Pressing his hands to the floor, Draco pushed himself up hastily. But as soon as he put weight on his injured foot and cried out and nearly fell.
Gritting his teeth, he shuffled his feet forward. Tears pressed against the corner of his eyes, but he forced himself to keep going . . . forced himself to forget about the pain.
Slowly, he made his way across the cave toward the tunnels. His foot was quickly becoming numb, masking some of the ache, but it still throbbed glaringly. Yet, he still pressed on.
"I'll come back for you." With one final look over his shoulder at Hermione, he swallowed his fear and swallowed the pain and entered the cave, instantly getting swallowed by darkness.
Shivering, Hermione barely heard him.