The girl had been in no state to apparate, but it was the quickest and easiest way to transport her back home and to treat her battered, bruised, and failing body that was needed urgently. At a guess, he assumed she had less than a week to live before her organs started shutting down from malnutrition.

It was going to be a tough slog, mending not only her body but fixing her mind. Never had he seen Hermione Granger despondent in the eyes like someone had flicked a light switch from on to off. Usually, she was vivacious, outspoken, and would never have gone with him into the unknown without an argument on her behalf and an explanation on his.

She was so light he easily carried her up the stairs to his home, taking two at a time with haste he cradled her body against his own, trying in vain to warm her up against the harshly bitter wind that bit perilously at their skin.

Pushing the door open and crossing the threshold, still holding her tightly he kicked the door shut behind him with a resounding bang that echoed like thunder through the home. Taking her into the first door on the left he laid her upon a bed with a gentleness and covered her shivering body with a thick blanket and cast a heating charm in the room.

She watched him intently, following his movements with her eyes as he walked backward and forwards, gathering many items he must've planned to use on her. Shivering under the blanket, she looked at him apprehensively as he came towards her and recoiled a touch as he sat beside her.

He didn't blame her for flinching or recoiling as he came near; she didn't know his stance within their world nor where he stood Voldemort. As far as she knew, he was no better than those who tortured and beat her relentlessly, raped her for their own sadistic pleasures, and then starved her moments from death.

"Hermione," he whispered softly, her name rolling from his tongue with complete ease before dipping a cloth in warm water and wringing it out. "I'm just going to clean you up, pet."

Her eyes fixed tentatively on the balled-up cloth as it came close to her face before he gently patted it on the blood above her right eye moistening it and allowing him to both gently and meticulously work the hair stuck within the blood out and tucked it behind her ear gently.

He noticed she was on edge, feeling like a tightly wound spring beneath his touch. She was barely breathing as if she were waiting for a raised hand in anticipation to strike her flesh as so many had done before.

"I won't hurt you, Hermione," He spoke soothingly and softly, trying to convince her he wasn't as bad as the image she may have of him painted in her head.

Wringing out the cloth again to rinse the dried blood he this time moved to a cut above her swollen lips, dabbing ever so softly at the infected and swollen flesh as she winced beneath his hand and it was clear he was going to have to raid his depleting potions stocks for something to help her body fight off the infection before it turned septic.

"Sorry," he murmured softly, barely taking any focus off of what he was doing. "It will be over soon."

Lithe fingers made quick work of cleaning her up as gently as he could muster up. Beneath all the blood, he found deep purple and yellow bruises tainting her face, and his heart sunk. She was by far the worst treated witch he had brought into his home and he pondered by the way her right eye socket was swollen and her eye was almost shut if she had sustained facial fractures and honestly at the hands of Fenrir; he was surprised her arms and legs were still intact.

Picking a small vial up from beside him, he unscrewed the lid and tipped a little of the cream onto his fingertips. He noticed her nostrils flare as the scent hit her nose, and wondered if she knew what it was.

"Salve. For the bruises," he spoke with a gentleness she had never heard come from him before.

Visibly, she relaxed a little and let the wall of distrust crack ever so slightly. If he were going to do something to her, he wouldn't waste his time healing her, she thought critically to herself. Or perhaps he was lulling her into a false sense of security before he would attack.

Dabbing the salve on her tarnished skin with a featherlight touch, he tutted as he did so. "What have they done to you? Utter Barbarians." He exhaled sharply through his nose.

Making quick but light work of the salve he got to his feet "I suspect you are famished. Wait here, I'll be back."

She sunk deeper into the pillows and under the blanket. The soft mattress welcoming on her sore and tired bones after months of sleeping on the Malfoys dungeon floor with little more than a sheet to be both her bed and her blanket. Sighing gently, she closed her eyes just to rest them for a moment. The only time she was at ease was when she finally lulled off to sleep for half an hour here or there when in the Manor. Jumping at every sound was hard on the body and the mind, but the need to be aware to preserve one's life was paramount in there. If you let your guard down Greyback would be all over you like a Niffler to gold. She felt sick at that thought. She remembered his fiery breath on her neck as he growled in her ear, pinning her to the floor and forcing himself inside of her. The memories all came flooding back and, like heavy rain on a winter's day, it froze her to the core. He had taken her innocence; he had been so brutally rough on one occasion she bled for hours afterward, curled up in a tight ball clutching her abdomen, and not one person rendered help. Instead, they looked down their nose at her and laughed before locking the door behind them, leaving her to wish away her life and hope for a swift death and a release from the pain.

Eyes closed; her ears listened out for the footsteps that would alert her he was on his way back. She wasn't ready to truly trust him and let her guard down, but at the same time, she didn't have the energy for fight-or-flight right now. Instead, she would have to grin and bear whatever he tried on her.

Soft footfalls traipsing back down the hall. Her eyes opened, and her head lulled to the side to watch him enter with a bowl in hand. She barely had enough energy to move her eyes, let alone sit up.

"Broth," he announced as he sat back beside her with the bowl. "It's not much, but you need to start slowly for a few days before we introduce solids again or it will be quite a shock to your system."

Her eyes moved between him and the bowl, unable to sit up or grasp the spoon, her stomach rumbled viciously as the vapors twisted and danced down her nose, mercilessly taunting her.

He placed the bowl and spoon on the bedside table before placing a hand under each of her arms and lifting her gently so she was in a sitting position.

Sitting back down, he took the bowl and spoon and without even hesitation he spooned the broth into her mouth for her, waiting as she swallowed each sip glacially.

Her stomach churned into action, savoring every sip of the mild liquid currently being spooned down her throat, and it wasn't until that moment she realized just how hungry she had been. Relishing as the liquid slid down her throat, she grew tired just eating and she hoped she would start to feel better soon.

She wanted to thank him, but the weakness that tore through her body rendered her unable to muster up the energy to speak.

The sound of the spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl alerted her to the fact the broth was all but gone.

"I'll be back soon. Get some rest."

She watched as he left the room, eyelids lazily closing as she drifted off, and for the first time in months she felt as if she could truly relax.