It was a tad bit awkward trip to the library, not because of the place itself, but for the goal he was heading to there. He knew exactly how to find her with the littlest efforts. But he soon noticed that he was a tiny bit afraid of approaching her when he didn't have the extra bravery loaded in his system. Or his flask in the inside pocket of his robe.
So he stuck to watching her, from a table that had the perfect view of her hidden alcove.
She was reading up on healing spells – he noticed the big, leather-bound book which, if thrown with enough strength, could surely kill an ordinary person. Or two. Maybe even three.
Draco Malfoy huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, annoyed to no end. He didn't believe that he hadn't the courage to fetch a talk with a girl – no matter the topic, he should most probably be able to do this simple task as forced chit-chats were the operating wheels of purebloods' elite circles. Nevertheless, he was afraid to simply approach Granger without a plan B. Or C. But let's be safe, he still needed plan D precisely thought out before the actual confrontation.
Or if he had time for that last one... Granger – as if to (yet again) overthrow his safe tactics – dropped to the floor when reaching for a new stock of books. Not fall, no, like people would if their ankles got sprained after a wrong move. No, the know-it-all extraordinaire just had to drop on the floor, like a rag doll.
His blood ran cool.
Snapped out of the frozen state, the sight did make Draco worry over his lips. He rounded the bookcases that were between them in a swift motion, immediately by her side and crouching near her, "Granger? Granger!"
All he received was a pitiful whine.
Good. At least she didn't die out of the blue. That's definitely an improvement – because plan D did end in the Infirmary. Nevertheless he had no desire of following that train of events.
He shook her shoulders vehemently, eager to have her functioning self back. Seeing Granger as pale as him was scary – and it got worse when her whines became full-force sobs. She started trembling under his hands and murmuring unintelligible things about information that she didn't know – which was on the border of absurdity for Granger, anyway.
He muffled her cries with his hand as he was desperate to find a solution and not end up in Azkaban for unintentionally corrupting Golden Girl's perfect mind.
"Shit! Shit! Shit! Granger!" he tried again with the shaking but got no reaction. He saw crocodile tears roll down on her cheeks as her bosom heaved like a professional player's after an intensive Quidditch match. Heck, it was alarming!
She started struggling against him, her nails scraping his skin as she tried to put distance between them. Draco winced when his palm got a nasty injury, just into a vein, resulting into his formerly oh-so precious blood flooding out of its belonging place.
Having enough of this circus, he got both of the feisty witch's arms above her head with one of his hand and sat on her hips. Before he could perform aguamenti to freshen her up and make her snap out of her intense hallucinations, he noticed it. The feeling of congealed blood under her robe's sleeve made him turn his head upwards.
Pulling her left arm down, while holding the other firmly, he rolled the black sleeve up, wet and cold against his touch. The gauze under the fabric was tight around her skin, and instead of the aseptic white that he wanted it to be, it was all red.
His fingers were the middle of peeling down the material from her forearm when Hermione started thrashing again, triggering Draco's seeker reflexes immediately as he leaned forward, pressing her back to the bookcase with their chests flat against the other's. It was intimate, but he did not want to be the victim of another muggle kick-boxing match.
He managed not to hyperventilate at the revealed sight.
There, on her arm was the absolute sign of the passing war – the bloody letters were taunting him smugly, yes Malfoy, this was your jackass family's doing.
His eyes were in the size of pool balls as he tried to control his reaction, he shouldn't freak out right now. He was there when she got those letters engraved in her skin for a life. And it still made him want to throw up.
Draco's limbs trembled vehemently as he was preoccupied pulling himself together.
Probably, without hearing the approaching steps, he wouldn't have managed.
Scooping up the heaving body of Granger's, he arranged her in his firm hold and sneaked her out of the library before the fourth years' study group could reach the corner. Biting his lips to swelling, he turned to the stairs, and marched downwards, too engrossed with his thoughts over the woman's wellbeing in his arms made him forget about her actually weight that made his limbs go numb.
He didn't even notice the ticklish feeling in his arms until he dropped Hermione on his bed, two floors below. Draco Malfoy didn't look back after tucking the woman in his black duvet like a bloody Belgian bonbon and leaving his dorm in rush, a bottle of fire whiskey in hand.
He needed relief. Immediately.