Chapter Five- Medicine

Hermione took him to the Hospital Wing immediately. She wrapped her arm around his waist and though he was narrow and lithe, he was heavy, leaning his weight into her, chaining them together in a slow, dragging stumble.

She could hear every hiss of pain and ragged breath in her ear, and the heat of each sigh on her cheek. Malfoy was uncommonly warm. Or maybe she was just burning. Either way, the journey across the school was one made in scorching silence.

Vaguely, she thought she could use magic to make him lighter, or even to levitate him completely. He clung to her so tightly though, his hand bunched into the material of her shirt, that she couldn't let him go. If she let him go, Hermione thought, he'd fall and never stop falling.

They burst through the Hospital Wing doors, and Madam Pomfrey immediately appeared from her office, her usual indignant self, proclaiming, "Oh honestly, Mr Collier, if that's you again-" but the chastisement died on her lips when she caught sight of Malfoy.

"Mr Malfoy," she said. Then, she snapped her mouth shut at the sorry state of him and assumed her professionalism once more. "Miss Granger, if you could get him onto a bed."

She bustled over, helping Hermione lift Malfoy onto the bed, muttering at him when he snapped at her. Then, she tapped his shoulder with her wand, and his shoes unlaced themselves from his feet, flying to the floor, and his shirt vanished, reappearing over the back of the chair. Hermione might have blushed, but her jaw slackened and she could only stare at him. The smooth expanse of Malfoy's chest was pale and lean, clinging tight to his collarbones, faintly outlining muscles he'd no doubt acquired through the hours of Quidditch Practise accumulated over the years-

And yet, all of it was marred. He had bruises of purple and blue, fresh and dark, and older ones that had already started going yellow, spread across his body, disappearing under the waistline of his trousers, curving around his waist. They were ugly and garish against the whiteness of his skin, sickeningly stark. Small cuts scattered over the swell of his ribs, which had hollowed out, almost like he'd starved himself. Running the length of his torso, from the gasping valley of his throat to his bellybutton, was a thick, red scar. It was somehow worse to look at than his Dark Mark. It glistened in the sunlight. Hermione couldn't look away.

"Broken ribs," Madam Pomfrey was murmuring. She'd summoned potions and a bowl of water and flannel to the bedside table. As if she had just remembered Hermione was still there, the nurse lifted her head and said, "Miss Granger, get a flannel and clean up his face, please."

Hermione hesitated. Even Malfoy seized up at the command. Despite her reservations, she rolled her sleeves up to her elbows and took the wet flannel, squeezing it over the basin. Gingerly, with shaking hands, she pressed it against the corner of his lip. Hamelin had punched him so hard that his lip had split in two places. Malfoy wrenched his face away from her.

He stubbornly stared at the wall. Hermione swallowed. She dabbed at his cheek, where the blood had dried, but he turned his head further away, deeper into the pillow. She took his chin and forcibly, but gently, pulled it back to face her, wiping at his mouth, ignoring the way he winced and glared at her.

"Swallow your pride," she muttered to him.

Malfoy neglected to reply, but his jaw tightened under her fingers. His blue gaze remained fixed on her. She could see the waxiness of his cheeks, the sleepless moons under his eyes. Hermione cleaned him up best she could but whilst the blood disappeared, the grey remained, permeating into every part of him, draining him of his life. Madam Pomfrey coaxed him into drinking a number of potions, running her wand over his jutting ribs to heal him. He laid on the bed at the end of it, sinking into the whiteness of the sheets. Hermione had never seen him look so fragile.

"He needs to rest," Madam Pomfrey told her, flipping her wrist and the potions went flying back to her office.

Malfoy scowled. "I'm not a child. You needn't talk about me like I'm not here."

"Overnight?" asked Hermione, folding her arms across her chest. Malfoy redirected his glare.

"His body is weak," explained the nurse. "Even if he wasn't as feeble as he is, I'd keep him at least one night, just to give his ribs chance to heal. But-" she broke off, casting a look at her disgruntled patient before beckoning Hermione away. Malfoy rolled his eyes, making a comment that was lost on them. Her voice lowered. "Miss Granger, the boy hasn't been sleeping. He's clearly not eating. He's even rejecting some of the potions. It's almost like- it's almost like his body has given up."

Hermione swallowed thickly. She stared at her feet, arms still wrapped around her waist, hugging herself. "I can stay with him, if you think that will help."

The nurse sighed, and the sound was heavy and helpless enough to draw Hermione's eyes to the older woman. The lines in her face were deep, almost pained. "Miss Granger… I'm not sure what will help. I can heal his physical wounds, but the wounds of the mind are out of my control."

She rested a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "I can't promise he'll be alright, but if you stay with him, you can at least stop him from throwing up the medicine."

Hermione grimaced, and Madam Pomfrey squeezed her arm before sending a final warning look at Malfoy. "Behave, Mr Malfoy," she said sternly. "I'll dismiss you when you're well enough but until then, you're to stay here. Understand?"

With a noncommittal noise from her patient, the matron retreated into her office. Hermione watched her, and she could hear the pounding of her own heartbeat loud in her ears. As soon as the door clicked to a close behind the nurse, Malfoy kicked back the covers, face twisting in pain. He swung his legs over the bed and got to his feet, gripping the bedframe tightly.

Hermione's head shot to look at him. Alarmed, she demanded, "Where are you going?"

Malfoy snorted. "Hell, most likely."

"That's not what I meant," she replied quickly. "I meant Madam Pomfrey just told you that you have to stay overnight! Whether that's because your injuries are bad or because she thinks you'll only end up with more in the state you're in-"

"The state I'm in?" Malfoy interrupted. He scoffed. "That's rich."

Hermione ignored him. She'd spent seven years excelling at it. But when he grabbed his wand from the bedside table and winced as he bent down to tie his shoes. His back was just as bruised as his front. She bit her lip and felt her eyes roll back into her head as she realised what she was going to do.

"I can't let you go," she said, almost cringing as she did. She flicked her wand and his laces undid themselves again.

Malfoy didn't even flinch. He raised an eyebrow and fixed her with a steady stare, the warning dark and cold in his flint eyes. He began to tie his laces again.

Hermione grimaced, and she inhaled sharply before jabbing her wand again and his laces pulled completely out, shoes darting from his feet and skidding to land against the far wall.

"What the fuck is your problem, Granger?" Malfoy growled, and Hermione noticed his hands were shaking, clutching the bedsheets tightly. He looked like he was restraining from wrapping them around her neck. He was scowling at the floor.

She swallowed.

"You are hurt, Malfoy," she said, surprised at how strong her voice sounded. She crossed her arms for emphasis. "So you will stay here and if I have to knock you out, so be it."

His knuckles had turned white, but he relaxed his grip on the blanket. Hermione watched him for a moment longer to make sure he didn't try anything else. When he didn't move, she let out the breath she'd been holding, and moved to sit on the chair by his bedside. The silence wrapped around them for the agonising space of a few minutes.

Malfoy let out a frustrated sigh, and he stood up (swaying ever so slightly), before summoning his shoes, ripping his shirt from the back of the chair and setting off towards the door. Hermione shot to her feet.

"Where are you going?" she demanded, frustration pulling her eyebrows into a frown, sending her hands to her hips. Her voice broke almost as if it was desperate but she pushed that thought out of her mind immediately.

"I didn't think I had to tell you where I go," Malfoy said, turning on his heel to look at her. He raised his eyebrows. Hermione bristled. "In fact, I didn't think it was any of your business."

She spluttered for an answer because technically, he was right. She didn't care. He could saunter his way back to the Slytherin Common Room and break another two ribs for all that she did care.

He'd made it to the doors when she realised that was a lie.

"Draco-"

It was a last bid attempt and they both knew it. The desperation in her voice fell frigid on the air. Malfoy froze.

He didn't turn round this time. "Don't call me that, Granger. We're not friends, I told you-"

"I know!" stressed Hermione. "I just-" Merlin, was she crying? Her eyes were hot and wet and she blinked, but that just made the tears fall faster. She dragged her arm across her face. Malfoy watched her.

"Draco," she said. She was just so tired. Her heart felt heavy and sore in her chest. She screwed her eyes shut and for some goddamn reason, all she could see in the black space there were the crescent moons under Draco Malfoy's tired eyes and the dying meadow of bruises across his skin. "I know we're not friends. I know that. But- God, please come back. You need to rest. You're not okay, Malfoy. You need to rest."

Malfoy stared at her. No flicker of anything passed across his face and his chest remained still, almost like he had stopped breathing entirely. They seemed to stare at one another for ever. Then, he swallowed, and walked slowly back to the bed. He dropped his shoes on the floor, laid his shirt over the post, and braced his weight on the mattress, but his arms were too weak and his pain too profound that a small cry broke free. Hermione didn't hesitate; she moved over and wrapped her arm around his waist, careful not to touch any of his scars even though his skin was a battlefield of them, so she could hoist him onto the bed. She gave him the blanket, and moved to sit back down on the chair.

"Your care is wasted on me, Granger," he said quietly. Hermione pretended she hadn't heard him.

"You look like you haven't slept in days," she said instead. "I'll make sure Madam Pomfrey doesn't wake you."

Malfoy had melted into his pillow. His hand slackened. It must have been one of the potions finally working its way into his bloodstream, for Hermione's face swam in and out of his view.

Numbly, he asked, "You're staying, Granger?"

Hermione swallowed. Malfoy had already closed his eyes so he missed the way her face succumbed to despair. "Yes, Malfoy," she whispered. She didn't know if he caught it. "I'm not going anywhere. I have to make sure you don't vomit up your medicine."

AN: They're so broken. It absolutely crucifies me to write them in such pain, but this is the reality of war. For both sides. I'm really sorry for the delay with this chapter! I've been focusing on my school work and an original book I'm writing, but I got inspiration for this abruptly, quite out of the blue, and just had to write it! I hope you all like it:)