Chapter 23: SCENT

There was nothing. She saw nothing, heard nothing, tasted nothing, smelled nothing, sensed nothing. All was black and void, time lost all meaning. She couldn't even feel her own body as if she didn't even have it, like she ceased to exist.

And suddenly, a scorching pain engulfed her. It's like her body was ripped open and then filled with millions of needles, piercing her inside mercilessly while her skin was burned by Fiendfyre. It was too much. She wanted to scream, but at the same time it's like she was choked. She just wanted it to be over, to be freed from this body, released from this torture.

"Stay with me, Amber. Stay with me."

Was that her name? Or was her fuzzy mind affecting her hearing? But she knew that voice, knew it well since long ago. A distant whisper from far away, yet felt so close. She knew that voice.

It's calling her.

It calmed her. Her body relaxed as the burning dissipated, replaced by sensation of balm of breezy dew on her skin. The stitches just disappeared, leaving her body empty and light. Then she was freed, floating into nothingness, but now she felt at peace.

The next time she came into her awareness, the first thing her sense caught was that scent. Of a freshly cut grass after the rain. This also felt familiar. It soothed her to sleep, a deep and peaceful sleep, for she knew that she's safe and everything would be alright.

It was the same fragrance that pulled her into consciousness some time later. One by one her senses returned. First was her smell. After all it was the scent that had lured her. Second was her hearing, of a faint humming sound she heard every day on her bedroom. Yet she recognised that the fluffiness of the pillow beneath her head was not hers.

Hermione tried to open her eyes but quickly shut it again as a searing pain sliced through her right, from shoulder to arm. She inhaled a deep breath slowly, held it for few seconds, and released it through her gritted teeth. Three more lung-full of breath and the pain turned into a dull sort of throb. Her whole body felt sore, but she could manage. This was surely not as bad as when she had woken up in Hospital Wing at the end of her fifth year.

In a way, she could blame it to Harry. If only he had listened to her, they wouldn't be in Department of Mystery at all that night. But now, she only had herself to blame, or her curiosity to be precise. Curiosity killed the cat and in her case, apparently it could kill her too.

She should know better! More than a decade befriending Harry Potter and Ron Weasley should have taught her to follow her brain instead of her gut. Jumping head first without thinking first mostly would only bring trouble. There's a difference between brave and reckless, and even before she had entered the house, she knew that what she's about to do was a bad idea, it was beyond stupid!

On the other hand, she was in dire need for distraction. She still wasn't able to sort out her feeling about Ron's new relationship, it was harder than what she'd thought. And her usual solution when she couldn't solve one problem was to occupy herself with solving other problem.

She hadn't lie to Harry when she said she had enough deadly duel to last a lifetime. In fact, her initial plan was to slip into the house, avoiding any duels she might encounter, find whatever Rookwood had stolen from the Ministry, and left. She'd be fully under Disillusionment Charm from start to end, nobody would know that she'd been there, especially Harry. He would also never be aware that she had raided his study.

It should be quick and easy, just like with Skeeter. She even had deliberately chosen the quietest room to enter. But she had only been few steps into the house when Draco appeared and duel ensued not five minutes later. Still, she had been safe where she was; hidden, invisible, and protected by magical shield she had cast around her. Until Draco had been cornered by his opponent, she knew then that she couldn't just watch and did nothing.

Eventually, she managed to open her eyes. She expected to be assaulted by a bright blinding light but the curtain did its job blocking most of the daylight into the room. It helped her eyes to adjust faster.

The first thing that caught her sight was the light bulb on the ceiling, a common light bulb. She blinked, twice, just to be sure that it wasn't the product of her disorientation. Then her eyes moved lower to the wall where it found an ordinary analog clock, both of its hands were between bold inscription of 1 and 2.

A pricking pain spiked through her right upper torso when she attempted to sit up. But she pushed through and with some effort. Putting her weight on her left elbow, she managed to lift her body up into sitting position. The wound was mainly on her arm and shoulder so once she's in sitting position, it's easy to manoeuvre her legs over the side of the bed.

The room was medium sized, slightly bigger than her bedroom with two doors on different side, one possibly leading to bathroom. Everything else was also ordinary; bed, wardrobe, and widows draped by thick curtain – spare and plain with no evidence of personal touch anywhere. Aside from the clock, the all four walls were barren; no painting, no poster, no framed photographs.

She found her wand next to her hand bag on bedside table, where she also noticed a nightlight plug on its socket above the table, another indication of electricity. She pushed her brain to recall memories before she blacked out and pieced clues together to make a deduction on where she was right now. The only place she ever saw wand lying next to electrical device was her flat, but this certainly wasn't.

She didn't need to ponder long though. The door burst opened, presenting her the answer.

"Oh good, you're awake."

Of course she remembered that the last person she had saw before she passed out was Draco Malfoy, but there's no way she would connect this room to him. Especially the way he was standing there by the door, looking at ease in casual long sleeve t-shirt and insouciant demeanour as if seeing her there was an everyday occurrence. It's so strange and beyond her imagination.

Still feeling overwhelmed by her surprise, she only gaped, "Why ... How ..."

"Pippin brought you here," Draco spoke blandly, interrupting her sputtering. "Me carrying bloodied you would surely land me in Azkaban and dumping you in front of St Mungo's wouldn't do anyone good, so here you are."

Eventually she managed to form full sentence. "It's Muggle flat." It was not a question.

"What an astute observation, Granger. Glad your brain still working just fine"

"You live in a Muggle flat," she accentuated her statement, disbelieve evident in her voice.

He rolled his eyes and instead of responding, he just casually strode in.

"Drink this." He handed her a blue vial, then put a violet vial and a small jar containing a brownish green cream on the bedside table, pointing the jar when he said, "then apply this to the wound on your arm after about a minute. This one is Numbing Potion if you think you can't handle the pain. The cream will bring strong burning sensation."

When she returned her gaze to Draco she found him staring at her, eyebrows arched, exacting confirmation that she understood his instruction. Hermione tentatively nodded in affirmation and without saying any word, he left.

The stopper had already been removed, so without any hesitation she brought it to her mouth and took it all in one gulp. If any of her friend – particularly Harry and Ron – ever heard about this, it was guaranteed that they'd give her the reprimand of the century. Drinking an unknown potion handed by the Draco Malfoy, and without properly checking it beforehand, was very inadvisable and beyond possibility of comprehension until two years ago.

She couldn't pin point when or what exactly had made her start to unquestioningly trust Draco, but it's true that right now there's not even any inkling thought that he would poison her. Maybe it was when they started exchange lunch or the fact that she's still alive now. Logically why would he give her poison after bringing her here and healed her? That just didn't make any sense, right?

The effect was immediate, the dull pain subsided into itch as the potion worked wonder on her wound. She remembered the curse had only scratched her upper arm so it should have only been a small gash, but considering how much she had bleed and the pain was all over her right torso, she wasn't so sure anymore.

Draco had told her to apply the cream after one minute so while waiting, her eyes wandered again but stopped at nicely folded velvet jumper. Instantly the tension returned to her body. Her eyes widened in mortification as realisation dawn on her.

Currently she's wearing an unfamiliar shirt – man's shirt, few sizes too big and sleeves too long for her – sans bra. Although yes, she never slept wearing one, but she always wore one when she went outside and right now she had a feeling that she'd find it in that pile of folded clothing.

Well, it's common knowledge that Scourgify was not really effective to clean bloodstain, in fact there's no spell that could remove bloodstain better than washing it manually. And if she'd been sent to hospital, there'd be some stranger who'd change her bloodied clothes anyway, it's not a big deal.

Or so she's tried to convince herself, because the alternative was not something she wanted to think right now nor intended to find out in any given time. At least she still had her trouser – and thankfully her knickers – on, a trace of dried dark stain around her right hip. Still, she could feel her face heating up.

To divert her thought from this clothes debacle, she snatched the jar from the table and marched to the bathroom. For now, tending her wound was her priority. Once she felt better, she'd leave and forget everything. Besides, her 'mission' had failed so she could just forget everything (Obliviate herself if possible) and pretend as if nothing happen.

She tried hard to ignore that it wasn't her shirt when she undid its two topmost buttons, letting it slide off her right shoulder. Instead she focused her attention to her reflection in the mirror, particularly her shoulder where the pain felt the most.

Just like she thought, it was only a small slash on her arm, three inches from where her arm joined her shoulder, but what caught her attention was the discolouration on the skin around it. While it already stitched together and looked more like an angry red line scar, the skins around it was greyish blue, as if on a verge of frostbite, very contrast with the pale pink from her elbow to her collarbone. Both were not her natural skin colour; tan like the rest of her body.

As she was observing it, the greyish area gradually narrowed and turned into pale pink. It felt itchy, she was very tempted to scratch it but she reckoned it'd be unwise to do. Nonetheless, she still touched it, carefully caressing it. It felt raw, like fresh re-grown new flesh or skin. In fact, it maybe was because it really reminded her of when she healed Ron's splinching wound.

Draco was right, it hurt so much when the cream made contact with her skin and she always considered herself to have high pain-tolerance. She bit her lip to resist from screaming, a loud frustrated hiss escaped instead. Perhaps it indeed burned her since it started to smoke. As it steadily disappeared, so did the pain.

The scar now was just a thin white line, almost invisible if it's not for the contrast with the newly pinked skin. No remnant of cream as if it had evaporated, or perhaps it indeed was hence the smoke. The itch was still there though. She might drink the second vial just so she wouldn't scratch it.

Now that she no longer distracted by the pain, she made a mistake by glancing at her full reflection. What she saw in the mirror was an image of a young woman in a man's shirt too big for her with its two buttons open showing her un-bra'ed cleavage, the only word that could describe her hair was disaster. This was a typical image of 'morning after'. Even without the fact that currently she was in the bathroom belong to the said shirt-owner and minutes ago she had woken up in the said person's bed.

She shook her head vehemently, trying her hardest to expel that thought from her mind. This wouldn't do, not at all. The easiest and fastest solution was changing her clothes so that what she did.

Even then, in her own jumper and look presentable, she still wasn't ready to face Draco. He might being a gentleman by not saying anything moment ago, but who knew if he'd changed his mind and decided not to miss another chance to mock her. No matter what he'd say, she wasn't sure she could counter it with proper comeback, or even able to say it with straight face. Months she had lived in a tent with two boys and never once this kind of awkward moment had ever occurred!

Not in hurry to see Draco, Hermione started a closer exploration of her surroundings. Now that she had an opportunity to investigate his personal space, off course she wouldn't waste it. If she's lucky, she might find something that she could use as ammunition for later.

No such luck though. Unlike Harry, he knew not to leave his drawer unlocked when unattended and not with a simple lock that could be opened by an Alomohora too. She'd welcome the challenge to try to break it and she's rather confident that she'd succeed, but it would take time. Not when the owner was on the other side of the door and could enter anytime though.

She moved to the window, sliding the curtain to look outside. A quick glance and she gathered that she was on first floor, by what she saw out there, of a building in a Muggle neighbourhood. Actually she knew this area well.

Eager to confirm her notion, she hadn't been far from the bedroom threshold when she demanded, "Is that Manor Park over there?"

"That's what written on its sign, yes."

He didn't bother turning around to face her when he answered, fully engaged in whatever he's doing, which dare she guessed, might be cooking. But after finding him living in Muggle flat, what else could surprise her anymore, not even several electronic devices like telly and fridge she found there.

Hermione took the only chair on the kitchen table. A quick scan on her surroundings, she could construe that this was what you'd get on a bachelor flat who didn't expect – or want – to have guest.

There's no sign of other bathroom other than the one in the bedroom while the only other room was this one, spacious sitting room with rather nice kitchen. Or maybe it felt spacious because it's almost empty. Other than the single chair she's currently sitting, there's only a velvet blue settee paired with a small coffee table facing the telly. For a Malfoy who kept bragging about his family wealth throughout their school years, this place was very understated. Even her fridge was bigger than the one here.

"I live not far from here, do you know that?" she started conversationally.

He gave no reaction and knowing him, Hermione didn't push further. When Draco didn't want to talk, he wouldn't even flinch no matter how much she tried to goad him. Sadly it wasn't the case for her, Draco always made it look so easy to rile her up.

Silence descended between them and she started to consider maybe it's time to take her leave when finally Draco faced her, a steaming bowl on his hand.

"Surely you're not accusing me of stalking, Granger?" he said, as if there's no pause between her query and his reply.

Hermione almost smiled, but quickly covered it into snicker. She leaned further against the table, resting her elbows on it and her chin in her hand – something that her mother always forbade her – and looked at him in challenge.

"Oh, I don't know. You once claimed that I ...," she trailed off, pretending to think. "what was it again, invading your hideout. So who know if you're not seeking for retribution."

He only smirked back and pushed the bowl to her, pointing it with his chin as a gesture for her to eat it.

"You cook?"

"It's not so different from making potion," he shrugged dismissively.

It wasn't so bad, or if she's being generous, she would say that it's actually a decent chicken broth. As she sipped another spoon, she could detect a hearty taste of mung beans slightly offset by ginger which not only heighten the taste but she could feel it warm her up as it passed down her throat. Maybe a little bit of spices would make it taste better.

"What potion did you give me there?" She started another conversation so Draco wouldn't just stand there, staring intently at her while she's eating. "I reckon it's not Blood Replenishing Potion or the likes. I can't taste any indication of silverweed or dittany and I know you can't just rid the nuttery texture of silverweed. Although considering how much blood I lost this morning, it's quite strange that I didn't experience dizziness."

His brows furrowed. "This morning? You're unconscious for," he took a quick glance at the clock on the wall, "28 hours, give or take."

"What?"

"It's Sunday, Granger," he expound flatly. "Not a bad deduction though. Indeed, I didn't give you any Blood Replenishing Potion, your body has enough time to reproduce it on its own."

He moved back and sauntered to the cabinet, reaching for a jar of tea leaves and busying himself with the boiling kettle.

"Do you know what kind of curse was that?" she probed further.

"A variation of Discerptus Curse," he stated blandly.

The way he brewed his tea was like potion making. Carefully he measured up how much he put loose leaves into the teapot - which covered by tea cosy! The last time she saw it was her late Nana's – before attentively poured hot water over it.

"A small cut will do, then it will spread out, eating your skin and flesh while also prevent the blood from clotting. Because of the blood loss and open wound, your first thought will be Blood Replenishing Potion or Essence of Dittany, but that is a stupid mistake. The bleeding will get worse and the regeneration property in Dittany will only propagate the curse faster. I can assure you, Granger, that's not the way you want to die."

"There's Counter Curse of course. Right?" she added, seeing that smirk on his face. "So what you gave me then? I'm still alive so you must have done something."

"Thinking of joining my raid again, Granger?" he taunted, which she answered with a withering glare. Not that it deterred him.

"Fine. I can find the answer myself if you don't want to tell me," she huffed indignantly, albeit she actually enjoyed this inside. It'd been so long since the last time they had this kind of conversation, she missed this.

"You really make it your life mission to know everything, huh?"

She shoved the last spoon of the broth into her mouth. After all, the last time she had eaten was dinner on Friday so naturally she's hungry. Then suddenly she remembered the colour of her skin around the wound.

"You froze me," she gasped. "At least part of my body. Thus you could stop the bleeding and possibly stop the curse from spreading."

"Merlin! Now I understand why Snape disliked you." He turned so his back was on her, but for a second she's sure she saw the corner of his lips curled upwards into a brief smile. It didn't linger for long though. It's no longer there when he faced her again, placing two teacups on the table.

"The curse only work on living creature, warm flesh," he began. "It won't even make any scratch on Inferi. So it's not just about freezing it, but also turning it into 'dead meat' and putting it to static state to prevent decomposition, then the curse will stop working and gone. What the potion did is merely reversing it and the cream is just to clean up."

It sounded so simple, yet she knew how tricky and risky it was. It required precision both in casting and timing, one tiny mistake and she could die because the curse already spread to vital organ which couldn't be 'killed' without killing her for real or at the very least she could lose a limp either because it couldn't be reversed or the Static Charm was cast too late and decomposition already started.

"You miss your calling, Draco," she noted genuinely. "You'll make a fine Healer."

Using tea strainer, he poured the tea into each tea cups.

"It's just a basic lesson of Dark Art, Granger. A naive will only think on defence against Dark Art, while a fool learning Dark Art without understanding how it works," he stated matter-of-factly, proffering one cup to her.

Hermione stared at the cup, appraising it, before looking up to him. "Won't you offer me sugar or milk?"

"The three minutes brew is best to be enjoyed as it is. Sugar and milk will only destroy its flavour."

Her mouth twitched, but she nodded in acquiescence. "You can also put your teapot in Static Charm instead of tea cosy."

"It's winter," he stated as if it was a clear enough reason. At her blank look, he elaborated, "Static Charm will keep the heat, but tea cosy will let some heat seep out."

Again, Hermione just nodded. Luckily she didn't inherit her mother's pickiness on tea. For her, tea was tea. Her life was way easier without her needing to worry about how her tea tasted like.

He picked up his cup – left palm holding the saucer while right thumb and forefinger on the cup holder – and strolled to the settee. "What about you, Granger? Does Potter really don't know that you still babysitting him? Or did you suddenly realise that you chose the wrong career?"

"I have my own reason. Harry has nothing to do with what I did," she bristled haughtily, sipping her tea for cover. Lucky for her, she didn't need t worry about maintain her facial expression because it didn't taste as bitter as she expected. Sure the tea hadn't steeped for long so it wasn't that strong, but there's this sweet taste in it that picked her interest. What kind of leaf did he brew, she wondered.

"Colour me surprised, Granger. The Miss Do-Gooder of Gryffindor, always the rule follower, and everyone thought that it was Potter who dragged you into trouble. But look how naughty you can be," he drawled with, she imagined, that annoying smug smirk. "I applaud how well you maintain that pretence so well, Granger."

"Oh, colour me surprised, Draco. Look what's hidden behind your selfish prat façade," she countered, swirling on her chair to face him and imitating his stance. "Why, Draco, I have a feeling that this is not the first time you've saved me."

She paused for a dramatic effect before continued in an impish tone, "Last month I visit Hogwarts and I heard an interesting story from my House resident Ghost. Can you guess what it was?"

"I don't understand what are you talking about?"

"Do you?" She took another sip of her tea. My, this tea did taste good.

He scoffed wryly. "I'm not your Potter, Granger. Me playing a hero? How insulting!" He put down his cup onto the coffee table. "As a guest in my house, didn't your mother ever teach you that it's uncouth to insult your host?"

"My apology then." Her tone didn't imply that she was. Instead, a victorious smile bloomed on her face. Her suspicion was correct then. Better yet, she hit the right button. She'd note it for her future reference.

"Well, I certainly don't want to overstay my welcome," she said calmly, mirroring his action in putting down her cup. "I think I should go home now, before Ginny notice my disappearance and tell Harry to send search party."

He stood up, crossing the room in four long strides. "Potter's in hospital, stay overnight to re-grow bones."

"In that case, I really should go." She picked up her hand bag and winced. The Numbing Potion she'd drunk seem finally had worn off. It's still manageable, but she switched to her left hand. "Thank you anyway. For this broth I mean. And the tea."

With a flick of his wand, he cleaned and sent the bowl and cups into the cabinet. He opened another drawer and took out a vial, similar to the one he gave her previously.

"Your last dose." He set it in front of her. "Drink only if the colour around your wound hasn't looked normal, or you still feel stiff or anything, in two hours."

"Thank you." She used her left hand again.

When she felt his presence behind her, at first she thought that he was just being courteous as a host he claimed to be by escorting her to the door. Thus she was taken aback to find him following her outside and locking the door. And when did he put black winter hat on his head, covering most of his platinum hair. Did her mind was so preoccupied that she didn't notice it?

She looked at him questioningly.

"Groceries," he muttered dismissively before anything escaped her half open mouth. To prove his point, he sidled past her and walked decisively ahead, not waiting for her.

She covered her mouth to stifle her chuckle. With a brisk light step, she followed after him.

"There's a nice supermarket not far from my flat. Want to check it?" she commented offhandedly when she caught on his steps.

He remained impassive, but it didn't expel the smile on her face.

...***...

"I imagine it was grassland," she said suddenly from where she was nestled under the branches of the Poplar tree, breaking the tranquillity that surrounded them for a little long while.

Like before, she just flippantly jumped to a topic with no overture as if they were already in the middle of a long conversation. He didn't really mind though, it's quite a challenge to keep up with her but if he's being honest, he actually enjoyed it too much. Which worried him because he's not quite sure whether it was the right course for him to take.

He sensed her gaze on him, but he didn't remove his from the pond. "How so?"

"You always have this distinctive fragrant on you. A freshly cut grass after rain."

He barely managed to hold his smile. For him, everything went as how it supposed to be, according to its destined path, for a reason that he needed not to know. He had his duty and that's what he did, no question asked. But not her.

Unlike him, she always sought for answer. Not for rebellion, she understood her duty, but her curiosity. Perhaps it's because of her rather young age or that she was created from different entity than other, hence she had this thirst of knowledge that none of High Priests had. Or maybe because since her creation, she had never been or seen anything other than this place.

It's one of the reasons why he always indulged her.

"There's a reason why it's called the Tide," he began. Even with the distance between them, her eagerness radiated so strongly that he could feel it from where he sat. This was one more reason.

"Most of the time it's only mist, but often it drizzles and in the aftermath of big Ripple, it's a torrential downpour. When it does, it was so intense that it will cut the grass. It was necessary to maintain the meadow so once in awhile certain Ripple is necessary."

"How I wish I can visit it some time," she sighed wishfully. But they both fully realised how impossible it was. They had their own roles to assume and when it ended, it meant that they ceased to exist. They'd been created for one purpose only and nothing else.

Beside him, he heard a movement from where she sat which could only mean another enquiry and this time, he had her full attention so she'd demand the same courtesy from him.

"Describe it for me so I can picture how it looks like."

Even without looking at her, he could surmise how she's doing. Her finger would be folded on her lap as if to keep her grip on her composure, whilst the spark in her eyes was unable to hide her captivation. A perplexing emotion stirred in his heart. He closed his eyes, for if he didn't he might not capable to compose the answer she desired. This way, image of the meadow appeared in his mind for him to translate it into words.

"Everywhere you see, the field is covered with lush grassland. As wide as the sky that even though you can spot tree around the perimeter, you'll be lost when you try to reach it. It is frequently windswept, spreading the mist and making sure that it's always moist. Each droplet waiting its turn to take its path in the Tide."

"No colour?" Her voice was crisp and light.

With his lack of sight, his hearing was clearer. But of course, he figured long before then that even a syllable that escaped her lips would have a melody in it.

Contrast to his flat and even sentence. "Green below and blue above. Always."

"So that's why you keep coming here, because you want to see colours."

The way she spoke compelled him to open his eyes and followed her voice. When he did, their eyes met and he was captured. An overwhelming need surged within him, need of what he couldn't decide. It's baffling, puzzling even, yet he wasn't sure whether he wanted to decipher it or not. For if he did, there would another uncertainty if he even allowed to own it.

Unable to tear his eyes from hers, he breathed, "Yes, I do."

She was the one who broke their connection. Still, his eyes followed her every movement as she settled against the tree once more at his side, closer to him this time. Too close. Closer than they'd ever been.

Her knees were tucked up to her chest, she tilted her head and smiled. "And the Tide?"

"Flowing above the grass along its course, albeit unpredictable and uncontrollable. So do the Wind. Sometimes it will only touch the tip of the grass, sometimes blowing over the Tide without making any distortion, sometimes gracing it and if I'm blessed it will cancel any Ripple. Once in a while, both will clash and burst, thus the grass will be rejuvenated."

"With no end," she inferred.

"It's not something that I have the answer."

Time seemed to halt when her head touched his shoulder, casually resting there with no regard of the inexplicable wave of sensation which instantly engulfed him.

"Tell me more then," she whispered. Now that there's barely a distance between them, she had no need to raise her voice.

At that moment, he realised this nagging feeling in his chest would only grow stronger. It was not for him to deny it and it's too apparent to be ignored. Whether it was meant to be or supposed to be or even if he was allowed to be, he no longer had that choice.

Be it Fate or Chance who had led him here back then. Just like how he took on his duty, he'd embrace whatever it was. For even if he might never be able to comprehend it, it was inevitable. His reasons would only revolve around her.

A/N:

My mother is very picky about her tea. She often plays with various herbs to create her own brew (some leaves does produce sweet taste) and for her, adding sugar or milk (more so cream) is the greatest sin humankind has ever done. I prefer hot chocolate/cocoa (pure; no milk, no cream, nor sugar) while my father and my brother are coffee-guy (the latter is also a purist).