Hiya guys, just to warn you, there are mentions of operations, gore, blood, just a few bits and bobs which could be triggering to some, so if those things are triggering to you, make sure you skip this chapter! I try to skip over it a bit, but it is implied.
The pair materialised in the centre of a peaceful village lane, nestled in the French countryside. The air smelt of sunshine and fresh earth, and Hermione breathed in the scent deeply before nearly collapsing under Malfoy's weight. He seemed to lose his footing suddenly and leaned heavily on her, his fist grasping the fabric of her shoulder as though this would stop him from making contact with the tarmac beneath their feet.
Given her petiteness and lack of muscle, Hermione found herself struggling to hold up Malfoy, who was a lot heavier than he looked. She puffed and panted, side eying him in exasperation. As she clocked his strained expression, pale, bloodless complexion, and the absence of his usual disdainful or disgusted expression, Hermione forgot her irritation, her chest tightening with worry.
"Where the fuck are we, Granger?" Malfoy bit out, stumbling slightly as he attempted to hold himself up.
"I don't know." She sighed, peering at their surroundings. When he opened his mouth to speak again, Hermione fixed him with her most penetrating glare. "Look, Malfoy, I know you've never heard the words before in your life, but for God's sake, just shut up." But there was no real malice in her voice. Loathe as she might be to admit it, Hermione was worried about him. Thankfully, he complied, and Hermione was able to pull herself together, and organise her thoughts.
She summoned all of her strength, and wrapped her arm around his broad back. She could feel the tight muscle beneath the surface of her skin, and wondered momentarily whether she had found the solution to his surprising weight. She'd taken them to the first place in France that came into her head. It was a long way from Paris, in Northern France, near a countryside cottage where she'd stayed with her parents on holiday a long time ago. Here, she hoped the death eaters would not to find them. Taking them such a long distance had taken a lot of magical energy out of her, and Hermione could feel fatigue taking its toll on her, but she knew she had to hold it together. Malfoy was not in good shape, and it was up to her to sort out this bloody mess he'd got himself into. She began to half-lug him, and half help him limp down the lane, scanning their surroundings frantically for somewhere they could stop.
After what felt like about ten hours of this marathon, but was probably more like 10 minutes, Hermione spotted what looked like a tiny, run-down barn, complete with wooden floorboards in place of a roof, and a patch of dried grass at the front in the form of a garden, a place where she assumed no sensible muggle would consider living. It appeared abandoned and to Hermione, it looked perfect. She dragged Malfoy in the direction of the battered wooden door.
His face was becoming paler by the second, and when she glanced down at his arm, which he was clutching in a death grip, Hermione could see black lines beginning to extend outwards from the half-dark mark. Hermione lowered him onto the porch, where he stayed slumped like a sack of potatoes, and approached the door. When she tried it, it was locked, and surprisingly sturdy given the flimsy appearance of the barn. After a few minutes of Hermione assaulting the door in a blind panic, Malfoy decided to interrupt her.
"What are you, Granger?" Malfoy enquired, his tone rude.
"An idiot?" Hermione mumbled, close to tears at the blasted door, which was refusing to budge.
"Well, clearly." Malfoy muttered scornfully, "But, since we're stating the obvious here, You're a witch, Granger, and that's a locked door. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't there-"
Hermione had already cast Alohamora, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She kicked open the door, and peered into the gloomy, dusty, one-roomed barn where she and Malfoy would apparently be staying. The floor was covered in junk, and there were probably all kinds of nasty creatures, but to Hermione, the barn looked like heaven. She cast a cleaning spell, then went back to help Malfoy to his feet and haul him into their accommodation. He sagged onto the hard wooden floor of the barren room with a groan.
Hermione proceeded to spend the next few minutes pacing back and forth, wringing her hands in anxiety as Malfoy moaned in pain on the floor. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, reminding herself of who she was, and what she was capable of. You've been in way worse situations than this before, Hermione, she told herself, you can handle this. Just calm down and think.
Composure recollected, Hermione stepped outside, ignoring Malfoy's strained demand that she tell him where she was going, and cast the muggle repelling charm outside of the barn. Her time hunting Horcruxes with Harry and Ron had taught her that it was best not to take any chances. She strode back inside, to see Malfoy now lying on his back, clutching his left arm tightly in his other hand. His knuckles were white, his teeth were gritted forcefully, and he was staring into space, clearly in agony.
Hermione knelt beside him, and carefully removed his hand from his arm. His skin was heated.
"Granger..." Malfoy said, his voice low and dangerous, carrying a warning which Hermione chose to ignore.
She inspected his arm. It didn't look good. Where the remaining half of the dark mark was, the skin surrounding it was inflamed. His arm was paler than the rest of his body, so translucent she could make out all the veins beneath the surface of his skin. And what was most worrying of all was that those veins were turning black. The tendrils she had spotted running up his arm on their journey to the barn were the blood vessels surrounding the dark mark. The black magic was evidently seeping into Malfoy's blood. If it reached his heart, he would probably die. The thought was chilling, but Hermione kept herself cool and emotionally removed. She knew she needed to act. Given the rate of the black magic transmission, she predicted it would take around 8 hours for it to reach his heart. She had time, but she didn't have a lot of it.
"Go to sleep Malfoy." She told him softly. When he simply glowered at her, clearly conveying his refusal, Hermione rolled her eyes at him. She stood up and walked over to the furthest corner of the room. She opened her shoulder bag, and rummaged around for the books she'd checked out and packed about Dark Magic, hoping that one of them might have an answer for what should be done. She chose a promising one and began skimming it furiously, pacing the wooden floor, and trying to block out Malfoy's laboured breathing.
After about half an hour, Malfoy apparently decided he'd had enough. "Granger," He whispered furiously, "I know you're a know-it-all who can't resist any opportunity to make her abnormally big head even larger, but I'm dying here." He spat, "Could you for once in your life get your head out of a fucking book?"
"I am trying to save you." Hermione retorted haughtily, "But maybe, you're not worth my bothering."
"What, are you going to read the black magic to death?" Malfoy commented drily.
"For someone who's supposed to be dying, you're certainly not acting like it." Hermione snapped.
"Maybe you could just come and stare at it, Granger. Heaven knows, I've contemplated death often enough whilst being forced to look upon your face." Malfoy sniggered, then coughed.
"Wow, Malfoy, smart move. Be horrible to the only person who knows you're here, and the only person who has a chance in hell of saving your life." Hermione snarled, stung by the fact Malfoy was on the verge of death, and still choosing to insult her. She inspected the heavy book in her hand, and contemplated throwing it at him, and speeding up the process.
"Perhaps I don't want my life to be saved." Malfoy sounded sad, all of a sudden, "Has that thought ever crossed into your know-it-all head?"
Hermione gave him a pointed look. "Now you're just being ridiculous Malfoy. Anyone who loves themselves as much as you do can't possibly have a death wish." She rolled her eyes and continued to scan through the book. So far, the books she'd brought were not providing anything useful, much as Hermione hated to admit that a solution couldn't be found through reading, it was looking to be that way. She exhaled loudly, and ransacked her bag for another, more useful book. She located a medical journal buried at the bottom of her bag, and decided to scour that for answers instead.
Malfoy yawned loudly, much to Hermione's annoyance, and continued speaking. His voice was sleepy, all of a sudden, or perhaps exhausted. "I can't really think, that you, the Golden Girl, Saint Granger," He said mockingly, "Would let me die. It would offend your moral sensibilities, it would disrupt your self-righteousness, it would damage your ego." She could hear his smirk, even though she wasn't looking at him. "And that just wouldn't do, would it Granger."
After that delightful insight, Malfoy went quiet, and Hermione found herself longing for his derisive comments, his insults, his disgust, in place of this terrifying silence. At least his rude comments let her know he was still alright, he was still Malfoy, a pain in her neck, yes, but an alive and kicking pain in her neck. After a few minutes of agonising silence, Hermione's fears got the better of her, and she approached him tentatively. His eyes were closed, his face still screwed up with pain, but the regular rise and fall of his chest soothed her fears. He was still alive. She kneeled beside him, taking in his long black eyelashes, his steep roman nose, and the innocence which had come over him in sleep. He looked so vulnerable, so un-Malfoy like sleeping there on the dirty wooden floor, which normally his pretentious attitude to soiling his designer clothing would not have stood for. She softly placed her fingertip and thumb on his wrist, checking his pulse, and there was his heart. Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She returned her attention to the medical journal.
About half an hour later, Hermione finally came across a passage on removing dark magic from the body which looked to be relevant. After disregarding the pages about potions and ointments which could be brewed to rid the body of black magic, finally Hermione discovered something useful.
If none of these potions and ointments are within your access, and the black magic is beginning to spread, cut off the area affected by the spell or curse. The remaining magic should be expelled naturally by the body, given time and rest.
Hermione felt nausea rise in her throat. She dropped the book, her mind recalling the knife that Madame Qui Sait had slipped into her belt, clearly, it now became evident to Hermione, a precaution in case of this very occurrence. She eyed Malfoy, and the halo of blonde hair surrounding his head, and inspected his arm. The blacks veins were growing more and more prominent as time went on. Hermione considered her options. She could try and find an actual healer, but Malfoy's actions had been incredibly illegal, and he would probably be arrested. Given that the wizarding world already saw him as a death eater, he would probably be in Azkaban for the rest of his days. A muggle doctor would be useless. And if she left this, hoping his body would eventually expel the black magic, Malfoy could die, and it would be her fault. No, there was no better solution. Hermione was resigned to her fate. It was up to her to remove the remains of his dark mark.