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XXI: Strength

Within several minutes of navigating through the dense forest, Hermione was soaked. The hood of her cloak sat heavy on her head, barely assisting in keeping her face dry as she squinted through the downpour. Despite the rain easing up, it was still near impossible to see more than a few feet in the distance with the mist hovering between the trees. Her teeth were chattering in her head from the cold penetrating to her core, and her limbs had begun to grow tired as her shoes sloshed against the dense mud that coated the forest floor.

"Okay - think Hermione. If I was Malfoy, where would I be?"

Back in the warm and toasty cave where it's dry and nice, she thought to herself.

"Right, where else?" she posed.

She was nearing the edge of the Black Lake, the gently rippling inky waters barely visible through the thin sprightly trees ahead. She considered the lack of cover that path would provide and chose to heed Harry's warning, even if only for a moment. Her eyes darted back to the path she had taken, her mind buzzing with a million options and a million more disastrous scenarios. It seemed wise to head back inland where the canopy of trees would provide both shield from the falling rain and a cloak of cover in the event that any Death Eaters or wild creatures of the Forest came upon her. The vast array of towering plants, verdant, lively, and weeping with raindrops were shrouded in a veil of grey as the fog rolled and slithered between the trees. She cast long, winding gaps in the haze as she pushed forward, tense and aimless.

Despair was threatening to overcome her.

She could hear Draco's voice in her head. What the fuck was she doing? What did she think she would do if something were to attack her right now, poke at them with one of her two useless wands?

Shut up, Malfoy.

Also, where the hell are you?

It was impossible to know just how far she had gone from the cave. She would normally identify a marker - perhaps an unusually shaped stump or the bed of vibrant wildflowers - to help her find her way back, but with the low visibility and routeless wandering, Hermione had no point of reference.

Though the rain had begun to lighten, the overwhelming sound of raindrops crashing on the earth no longer gave her the comfort of covering her own sounds. Her feet sloshed noisily against the ground, and she could hear the sound of bird hooting and animals rustling in the bushes.

She rest her head against a tree, exhausted and alone. Was there a spell she could use? The bracelet continued to morph from the grotesque green to a deep crimson. Some of the petals shriveled and were coated in grey, as if the mist had seeped into the flowers. It was equally elusive and terrifying. She focused on her breathing, intentionally sucking in air as she released it through her nose, attempting to quell the intense fear that had begun to dwell and grow in her. Couldn't he have cast a navigating spell on these to make it easier to find him? Yet - no, she would have protested that invasion of privacy.

She continued onward, wet droplets gathering in her eyelashes as they fell against her cheeks. If they were rain or tears, it was impossible to know.

Suddenly, her ears perked at the odd sound of rumbling afar. She looked around hoping to identify it but with the lack of visibility - she was hardly able to see more than three feet away - and the constant sound of downpour created a filter of noise, hindering her ability to process what she heard - or thought she heard. Perhaps thunder? But it didn't seem to stop.

Hermione felt her instincts kick in and pressed her back to one of the thick trees in an attempt to camouflage herself, but the sound seemed to grow more boisterous as it drew closer toward her. Her decision to react took a mere second as her legs carried her in a panicked run, moving between trees and toward thick brush where she could perhaps hide. It was deafening now, growing louder and louder by the second. Desperately, she grasped the wands in her pocket and pointed both of them toward the source of the rushing gallops.

"Oh!"

Hermione breathed in relief as from the grey mist came an even stormier and mistier creature. The enormous half-horse, half-bird shook its large head in visible irritation as it patted the earth with forceful jabs of its hoof. The Hippogriff moved to bow its head, its beak nearly reaching the floor and as it did so, Hermione noticed a body on top of it leaned forward, nearly toppling over. Hermione rushed forward, her hands reaching him first, as she saw the light blonde hair and black suit.

"Draco - you're - "

"Huuh-ree..." the words came out so weak.

Something was wrong.

"Draco?" she asked.

He remained motionless and unresponsive to her voice. A flash of light illuminated the land for a mere moment, and for that brief second a flash of red was visible, streaming down the beast's side. It was blood, dark and vibrant as it slid down and dripped onto the shiny, wet dirt below.

"Draco - you're bleeding!"

The sound of thunder roared and several heavy droplets crashed down on her face.

"Shit," she muttered.

In an instant, and with the help of the Hippogriff who bent its hind-legs to accommodate her, Hermione jumped on the creature's back and wrapped her arms around Draco's torso, though he seemed to bend a certain way that prevented her from fully reaching her hands together. Hermione gasped as she felt his burning skin when she barely grazed against him, the heat seeming to pour out of his flesh in a desperate attempt to escape his body. She grabbed his hand for support, but the limb lay limp in his lap.

"Shit," she whispered again as water poured down on them ferociously.

The heavy droplets left a residual sting as they whipped down from the heavens and collided on her back, arms, and skull. She reached forward to hold onto him, and she could feel his body lolling with the turbulent strides of the animal as it made its way back.

"Hold onto her!" she urged, her voice shrill as she shouted against the cacophony of the storm.

She grabbed his hands and pressed them onto the beast's body. As if he didn't hear or couldn't comprehend, his fingers slid down and Draco fell forward onto the neck of the animal, his muscles not responding to her command or to instinct. She didn't have time to be perplexed or wonder why. Subconsciously and immediately, Hermione wrapped her arms around his chest and entwined her fingers together, pressing him in place against her as she held on for dear life.

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Time stood still during their journey back into the cave.

To her own surprise, and with the help of adrenaline coursing through her veins, she was able to single-handedly drag him off of the Hippogriff and toward the cave of the mouth, mere feet away from the safety and warmth inside. His legs shuffled awkwardly beneath him, the weight of his body misdirected with each step, while his head dragged to the side as if he were an infant whose head was too heavy for his neck muscles. She, with every ounce of strength left in her, pushed him onto the bed and took a step back to assess.

He was alive, clearly, as he lay breathing. But he was obviously unresponsive.

"Draco," she stated, pressing into his shoulder with firm fingers.

Nothing.

"Draco!"

She gripped his shoulders and shook as hard as she could. His eyes were open. His breath was warm. He was alive. Yet he barely turned his head in the direction of her forceful touch.

As, after a particularly hard shake, his head lolled toward Hermione, she felt her face grow cold as she shuddered at the sight. His face. His eyes, normally an icy silver-blue, were nearly milky and colourless.

"Oh, Draco, what happened?"

A sound, guttural and nearly inhuman, emitted out of his throat. His tongue flopped in his mouth as he tried to formulate a response. This was magic, there was no doubt about it, but what? And how? She was shaking. Her hands, balled up in fists, were vibrating like rattles.

Wiping the sweat that had gathered on her brow, she let out a shaky exhale.

"I'm going to help you," she said to him and mostly herself. "Calm down, okay, you're going to be fine."

Draco lay on his back, his breathing labored as though he had to force his muscles to cooperate.

It was impossible for Hermione to see. Against the darkness of his ebony clothing and the lack of natural light as the world outside was cast in shadow, Hermione struggled to identify the source of bleeding.

Cursing to herself, she buried her arm deep into her book bag and procured the blue flame again. She tried not to look at his face, the light making his already pale pallor seem even more sickly. The wet blood was visible, even against the wetness of his clothing from the rain. Her fingers were covered in it. She had scarcely noticed.

It was still impossible to see. Despite the now-illuminated space, tears were filling in Hermione's eyes and the panic seemed to envelope her, blackness forming around her like a tunnel.

This was not the time.

Panic later.

Hermione's fingers shook as she tried to peel the suit jacket off. Her effort was met with resistance as she felt something in her way. Her gaze followed from the center of his chest to where her fingers now hovered. In his side, slicing through his flesh, were three long rods. They may have been black or dark brown, seemingly hollow needles that punctured through the side of his abdomen. The source of the bleeding. As she inspected the sight, she noticed that one of the prongs had not reached his skin and was stuck in the fabric of his jacket. Using the fabric of her cloak to shield her bare skin, Hermione plucked the needle and withdrew it, leaving a tiny hole where it had torn through.

Hermione carefully lifted it, turning the needle sideways then upside down. The tip was jagged and pointed. The interior, which seemed hollow, was filled with what looked to be a a dark purple gel.

"Wait - " Hermione gasped, eyes wide, "are these?"

It was covered in microscopic little barbs, nearly impossible to see with the naked eye but illuminated and contrasted under the bright blue light.

These weren't needles, or prongs, or rods.

They were quills.

Her chestnut eyes that still sparkled with tears grew wide as she dropped the thin quill to the floor and rushed over to the center of the room where several of her books lay. Grabbing a thick red-covered book titled Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, she hurriedly began to flip through the pages until she landed upon the one she needed, mouthing the words as she read:

FIVE-LEGGED BOMWAT

M.O.M. Classification: XXXX

The Five-Legged Bomwat is a marsupial native to Britain and is often found in bogs, marshes, and wet forests. Similar to its non-magical cousin the wombat, it has short-legs and a dense furry body, though it derives its name due to its characteristically long, flat tail which is covered in thin, pointed quills. Bomwats have been hunted for centuries due to the magical properties of their venom, found only as a fluid inside of their quills. Though herbivores by nature, the sting of a Bomwat quill can be dangerous and special care should be taken when handling these creatures. With the exception of their quills, Bomwats are exceptionally docile and friendly creatures and have been known to make pleasant companions for the sick and elderly.

Hermione slid lower onto the floor, frantically searching for a second book - a hefty tome on Potion Ingredients and Craft that she swore she had seen the previous night. Pushing aside all of the miscellaneous items on the floor - bits of twig, notebooks, novels, and unrelated textbooks, she inhaled sharply at the sight and grabbed the book, finding the page on Bomwat Venom.

"Okay," she whispered, "here it is."

Her fingers trailed over the page:

Bomwat Venom

Drank or applied topically, the venom is extremely effective for pain relief in muggles and magic-folk alike, see Page 394 for Pain Relief Tonics and Salves. When injected into the bloodstream, the venom of the creature can severely debilitate the central nervous system of those unfortunate enough to be pricked by the quills. Though not fatal on its own, the effects of the venom are only intensified the longer the venom circulates within the bloodstream.

Temporary reactions to venom exposure may include sensory deprivation such as blindness, hearing loss, limited sense of touch, and muteness. If prolonged exposure occurs, effects may include permanent loss of senses and limited mobility. Bomwat Venom may be neutralized naturally over time, and an herbal mix of honey, lemon-leaf, and chamomile tea may assist with symptoms of dry throat and nerves.

Hermione winced as she considered what needed to be done.

Suddenly queasy, she jumped to her feet and found herself at his side. He lay still as she had left him moments ago, and after a bit of coaxing and pushing she was able to get him to lay on his side as she assessed the situation once more. The puncture wounds were located on the side of his abdomen, grazing where his ribs would be. Hermione was hopeful that this meant his lungs were functioning properly and had not been punctured. His breathing seemed clear and normal, thankfully. She reached to lift his shirt, now crusted with dry blood at the site, but she had a difficult time maneuvering around the barbs which essentially clipped his clothes in place.

"This will likely hurt," she muttered as she stared at the wound.

The bleeding had lightened, and she noticed one of the quills had pierced through the skin and came out the other side. That's good, she thought. Despite the misfortune of being badly punctured, the quill would slide out easier from the other side, going with the sharp tiny barbs rather than against.

"Okay, just breathe," she whispered, taking her own advice as she took hold of the pointed end of the quill with the sleeve of Draco's jacket, careful to not further puncture him nor herself.

She grimaced in anticipation as she pulled the length of the needle through his skin, coming out the other side with a swift pull. Hermione glanced over to see whether he was conscious - perhaps the pain had knocked him out - but with the exception of a subtle squirm, he lay there hardly reacting from the pain of his skin tearing apart.

The venom had begun to take effect in dulling all of his senses, including touch it seemed. Thank God for that, at least. She chewed her cheek as she considered how the next barb would come out. It was stuck deep into his side. There was no easy way to do this. It hadn't pierced the other side, and she wasn't sure where the other end had landed. If she tried to push further, she may puncture an organ or cause the needle to break in his body.

No, she had to go against the barbs.

And fast, as with every passing moment the venom continued to flow from the quill into his system.

"Oh God," she whispered.

She couldn't look.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she gripped the middle of the barb tightly with the cloth of his suit jacket once more and yanked. With a forceful pull the quill came out, but Hermione could see the damage that it had done to his skin as fresh blood began to seep out again. The metallic scent of blood made Hermione's stomach curl, but she hardly had time to react. She moved quickly to push his shirt upward, now free from any barriers, and maneuvered it under his weight and over his head.

"Nod if you're okay," she instructed.

He merely moved his head toward the source of the sound, as if aware that someone had spoken but not able to comprehend or hear much more than that. She pressed the fabric of his shirt tightly against the bleeding wound, looking frantically around to see if there was anything clean she could use to tend to him.

It took several minutes for her to get her bearings and manage to gather clean drinking water to clean the site. She had limited time as his wound continued to seep out blood, but she had to figure out something. Without magic, Hermione had to rely on sheer determination and her knowledge of herbal remedies to fix this.

She grabbed some Yarrow leaves from her stash, grinding them quickly into a semi-dry powder before adding water and working it into a thick paste. She slathered it on the wound, pressing it down before applying pressure with her own fingers. That should help the blood coagulate. She looked around for something to cover the wound with and keep the paste in place.

Her sling from days previous would work, but was covered in dirt, their clothes were soaked with rainwater and mud. Her gaze landed on the clean, white gauze and bandage that rested on his forearm and she swallowed hard.

No, you shouldn't…

It was clean.

Knowing Malfoy it was enchanted to stay put.

It was perfect.

"S-sorry, I need this," she muttered as she reached over to gently pull the clean bandage off of his arm. The grotesque sight of the Dark Mark was stark against his paler than usual skin and she chewed her lower lip as she concentrated on the task at hand. She made a concerted effort not to look at it.

Pressing the gauze against his side, she let out a heavy exhale of relief as it fit perfectly. The Yarrow leaf had already begun to help with the blood clotting, and the gauze held it all together. She helped him back onto his back as he lay there, breathing evenly. His eyes were closed and she prayed he was asleep for most of that.

"Finally," she whispered to herself as she looked him over again. His blood had soaked into the bed and covered his side. Her hands were covered in blood as well, dark yet bright against her trembling pale fingers.

How much blood had she seen these days? Though Hermione was no stranger to pain or injury, the physical pain that they had endured in the last few weeks alone felt overwhelming. Unexpected, and exhausting. The stench of dirt and rainwater that had clung to his hair and skin began to clear as she cleaned the sheets and their surroundings as best she could with Scourgify spells. Her broken barely-repaired wand was, to Hermione's surprise, somewhat capable of reaction to a Scourgify spell - enough to make a difference if cast several times.

With her hands busy, her mind wandered. It was dizzying to think back to Hogwarts. Despite not know how long they had been in the Forest - it couldn't have been more than a few weeks, she thought to herself - it felt like a terribly long time. How could she have been wrong about him? Again? She had beaten herself up for days after she discovered the Dark Mark, wondering how stupid she could have been for falling for his trap, for being so silly and naive to think that Draco Malfoy was a decent bloke whose path didn't lead to Voldemort. Her world had shattered around her at the revelation of nearly falling... well, falling for him. She truly had been naive, she realized. And even now, as she looked back on their encounters together, and knowing what Harry had told her, she couldn't deny that she had been naive. And thank Merlin for it, because had she not, they never would have grown so close and so fond of each other.

Harry's news was another earth shattering event, and Hermione could hardly stand on her own two feet on such rocky foundation. He's not a Death Eater. He saved her life. He killed someone for her.

Hermione reached down to pick up one of the quills carefully, her mind growing too heavy with thought. Her eyes grew wide as her gaze ran down the length of the needle and she ran through her memories.

"Draco, you didn't..." she could feel her heart beating as she glanced to the floor where the goblet lay, filled with the now dried burn salve and she recalled their conversation at the meadow several days prior. "I told you I needed this," she whispered to him, "for my pain, and you - you-"

Her face grew warm as she let out a quivering breath. Even there, as he lay motionless and utterly helpless, he had sacrificed yet again, for her.

"You idiot!" she responded, pacing at the foot of the bed, "you went looking for a Five-Legged Bomwat by yourself? For what, for me? Why?"

She sucked in an angry breath as the rage seemed to bubble up inside of her, conveniently masking any pain and panic she had just been experiencing.

"Stop being so nice to me, damnit! I - I've been nothing but mean to you, and cold, and awful, and you - you went and got these for me - for my - my - " words fought against her tongue to come out as tears spilled freely from her face. She tried to blink them away, adamant about her anger as her shoulders shook and lower lip quivered helplessly. "Why would you do that, Draco? Why?"

She stared at him, half-expecting an answer as he lay there, his head tilted to his side as his chest rose and fell with the tempo of a sleeping man. Yes, the Bomwat venom found from the quill of the Bomwat was exactly what she'd needed for instant and effective pain relief for the magical burn she had sustained. It was exactly what she needed, and like an idiot she had mentioned her need to him - but that didn't mean he should have gotten himself hurt for her. She wanted to scream at him. What a stupid, stupid, thoughtful, idiotic thing to do. Why would he have done that for her?

With a huff, Hermione dropped into a seated position on the ground, surrounded by her myriad of potion ingredients. She began roughly mashing the Bomwat quill into a chunky paste, her vision growing blurry as the thin cover of irritation began to wash away by the deep and difficult feelings of guilt and gratitude.

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Author's Note:

This has been a fun chapter to write because Hermione has been particularly frustrating as she grapples with her feelings and sense of trust for Draco.

It's nice to have her experience the regret we all know is warranted. Though in her defense, her world came crumbling down, so I can't be too mad at her.

Please let me know what you think! It always helps me to know if people are enjoying the fic.

With love,

Syren