Chapter Two
Those always-suspicious grey eyes narrowed, sweeping over her as he reflexively offered his hand. The gesture nearly made her laugh—he was a gentleman in spite of himself. She was covered in dirt, a dreaded Mudblood, and he was helping her to her feet after having accidentally dropped her on the ground.
"You're chilled to the bone. What in God's name happened?" he asked, again surprising her as he removed his cloak to drape around her..
She shook her head, trying not to wobble. "I can't remember."
"You're injured." Again he looked her over. "I'll escort you to St. Mungo's."
"Injured?" Hermione blinked up at him, trying to make sense of things. He must think she'd hit her head. It was night, why was her vision so crisp? His features were clear as if in daylight.
Maybe she had hit her head, then.
She followed numbly as he took her arm and started guiding her toward the path out of the graveyard. "I don't . . . I don't feel like I'm injured," she observed quietly.
He stopped so abruptly that she started in response. Perhaps the witch was traumatized and shock had forced her to forget whatever happened to her? "Miss Granger?" he spoke slow and careful. "You're covered in blood."
Chestnut eyes shot wide as she turned her attention to herself. Lifting her arms from beneath his cloak, she saw crimson spatters decorating her sleeves, her palms. "I don't understand." Swallowing hard, she shook her head. "I don't feel hurt, but—"
"Perhaps you're in shock?" he offered, voicing his thought from seconds ago. Or that wasn't her blood, not that that made much sense—he'd found her in a grave, it was more likely she'd been left for dead than that she somehow managed to get someone else's blood all over her and then buried herself in a box in the ground.
She nodded numbly. "Perhaps." Hermione started with the top of her head, circling her fingers in light motions, checking for sore spots or tenderness. She didn't want to go to St. Mungo's if she was mostly unharmed—and she didn't want to go anywhere if this was someone else's blood until she remembered what the hell happened!
"I don't seem to—" Her voice dropped when she reached her neck. "Wait." The skin felt tacky, like drying syrup dripped over the side of her throat. She snatched her hands away, her fingers trembling. "Oh, God!"
Lucius cast a glance about, the last thing he needed was for some hapless passerby to believe he was doing something untoward to the young woman. "Miss Granger, please get a hold of yourself." He lifted his wand. "Lumos."
She flinched, shielding her gaze from the flash of illumination with her hand. This was getting ridiculous. Yes, she'd been trapped in a pitch-black box, but she didn't recall a light spell being so very bright. It hurt her eyes.
"Let me see," he said, his voice low, uncharacteristically gentle.
Cognizant he was trying to help, she tipped her head opposite the wound. Though she couldn't see her own marred skin, she was very aware of him sweeping her wild hair out of his way.
Very aware of his fingertips moving around the wound in delicate sweeps. Why was his skin so warm?
"I won't lie, this looks bad." Thoughtless, he pressed close to her, trying to get a better look. He was oblivious to the way her eyes glazed over, her attention fixed on his throat.
He had no idea how the thudding of his pulse made her skin tingle, nor how her mouth watered at the sound—at his nearness.
"Dear God!"
She snapped back to her senses at his declaration. What was that? Oh, she must've hit her head!
Meeting his eyes in a daze, she asked, "What?"
Lucius seemed just as dazed as he once more pressed his fingers to her neck, his voice escaping in a breathless whisper while he double-checked, "Miss Granger . . . . You've no pulse."