Blanket statement for the entirety of this story: I am not a qualified doctor. This is a work of fiction. Please do not consider anything in here as sound medical advice. With this out of the way, let's see how Hermione deals with our poet...
Young Master Draco Malfoy could scarcely find his bearings. His dislocated shoulder was agony itself and clouded his mind with nothing but pain. Cutting through the fog brought about by his injury, all he could sense was the heavenly figure leaning above him, blocking the harsh rays of the sun.
Was she fay? He had never cared much for the stories told by simple folks around the Manor when he was a lad. He was too engrossed in the easy pleasures afforded by a spoiled childhood to believe in anything otherworldly. His needs were decidedly earthly and easily fulfilled. But seeing this eerie beauty appear to him in his moment of need was too much of a coincidence not to be the act of the fates themselves.
"Who are you? Pray tell me, what is your name?" He slurred, blinking against the sun.
"Best to work on your shoulder first, before any further civilities. You will find much relief once I manipulate it back into place. I need you to remain as you are on your back. I will not conceal the fact that it will hurt." Hermione moved to his side, and positioned herself next to his injured shoulder.
"I will take hold of your arm and move it about. I need you to breathe as deeply as possible, and please, try to relax as much as you possibly can." She instructed him.
Hermione freed his cuff quickly to grab his wrist directly with her two hands, extending his arm fully so as to keep his palm facing the sky. She could see moisture pearling on his brow, his breathing laboured with the continued effort to keep still. She proceeded to introduce a very small range of elliptical motions to the arm, slowly but determinedly raising it to be levelled with his shoulder. At which point, she began to rotate it further in place. Her grip was firm but gentle, her palms growing moist with their combined perspiration.
She continued to lift his arm above his shoulder line and sighed with relief the moment she felt a soft jolt down his limb, noticing a change in his breathing, informing her that since his pain had visibly subsided, his shoulder should now be safely back in place.
Hermione lowered his wrist back down, taking hold of his upper arm in one hand to fold it at the elbow against his chest.
"There. How do you feel? You can sit up now if you like."
Hermione was now facing a very delicate predicament. She needed to immobilise his shoulder or risk having it come undone again, to everyone's displeasure. She would normally use wide strips of linen to wrap around his chest, but the situation being what it was, she obviously had none.
She needed makeshift bandages, and the only way to produce some would be to rip one of the layers of her dress. This left her with three options, one of which was inconceivable. First and out of the question, was her shift. Just the thought of using her most intimate garment for the man's injuries was flushing her cheeks pink with a feeling she would identify at a later time. Thus only her dress or petticoat remained as valid options. The dress, being already torn by her escapade through the woods, would be the obvious choice. But her reputation would be ruined if anyone were to see her out in a petticoat. Even the welfare of the injured man next to her would not be enough justification to assuage the gossip spurn from such a shocking sight. Therefore nothing else would do: she had to use her petticoat.
"Stay here, I will be back anon. And above all, I beg of you, do not turn around." She stood up quickly.
Hermione rushed past the man, seeking privacy behind a bush, to untie the fastening of her dress. It was much more difficult to achieve unaided, the hook-and-eye at the bodice especially required some fumbling but she made quick work of the drawstrings at the top. Once her arms were freed from the sleeves, she repeated the process of untying the fastenings of her petticoat to let it pool down to her feet. She quickly put her dress back on, only summarily refastening the back as best she could in her urgency.
She pulled the petticoat free from her feet, then held it in front of her for appraisal. Clearly she should first rip the muddied bottom portion. Mrs Sprout had always advocated cleanliness of self and of patients as the foundation of sound healing practice. Now wasn't the time to disregard her teachings. Hermione then proceeded to rip the garment into three strips of linen, which she then tied back to back to obtain one long strip. She walked back to the man, who was obediently sitting on the forest floor, his arm still folded against his chest.
"Sir? How do you feel? Are there any other ailments that would require my attention?" Hermione kneeled back in front of him, her eyes looking down over his form to assess his welfare.
"I'm feeling...better. I thank you for your assistance. I am most indebted." Draco was staring straight at this girl kneeling in front of him. He could only see faint glimmers of her eyes, shadowed as they were by her thick lashes.
"Not at all, you are fortunate I was in the same woods. And the cost of helping you is but a petticoat." Hermione looked up, a smile to her lips thinking of her ruined garment.
Draco's heart gave a painful lurch as the beauty of Hermione's eyes struck him. They were of the most striking colour. Hers were of the lightest amber, brown yet so fair they appeared golden in the light. "Who are you? Pray tell me for you are bewitching."
Hermione was so intent on the care she had yet to provide, she remained oblivious to the man's inner torment. She gave a small laugh before answering. "No witchcraft is involved I can guarantee you. Now if you were to allow me. I must secure your shoulder to ensure it stays put and heals properly. I will need to remove your torn coat first as I cannot proceed with the fabric in the way."
Draco's breath was stolen the moment the girl leaned forward to remove his coat from his form. She started from his good shoulder, then proceeded very slowly to slide the ruined sleeve from his folded arm. She was cautious yet assured in her movement. His vision was filled with chestnut curls framing her face and tickling his jaw as she bent forward.
Without missing a beat, she then picked up her bandages, wrapping them tightly against his chest to secure his folded arm. She had to get closer still to ensure a tight fit. Draco's nose came to rest almost at the junction of her neck and shoulder on several occasions. He was incapable of resisting the call of her skin and breathed her back in with his next inhale. Overwhelmed by his attraction to his saviour, he lowered his eyes to compose himself, but such was his undoing.
His stare landed on her bosom, heaving from her exertion, revealed by her gaping dress which hadn't been fastened properly. He was lost in her. Only too late did he close his eyes, but henceforth continued to be enthralled by her heavenly scent.
Considering he had been in boundless pain not ten minutes prior, he would have never thought he could be so aroused sitting as he was on the forest floor. Yet, the nymph he had encountered was beguiling him in the most addling ways. Who was she? What was she doing, alone in the woods? He couldn't see a hat or bonnet behind her thick curls, her dress was only summarily put together. How could she know so much about healing?
One should never make haste in passing judgement, especially as one is still recovering from the worst injury of their young life. Draco prided himself in being a man of the world. His extensive tour across Europe had given him plenty of experiences from which to inform his opinions. He had sampled the typical lives of young men set free, mostly unchaperoned, in their travels. He had been an assiduous student in licentiousness and the wonders of carnal pleasures, but had not yet learnt to hold back on quick assumptions.
Draco conjectured the girl to be of little virtue. He had after all, when in Italy, encountered prostitutes learned in healing arts. Since no respectable physician would attend to them, they had developed their own ways to manage illnesses. Why else would she be here, in a shocking state of undress, without company and lacking the proper attire of a hat to denote her status? She must have been in the woods to meet with a punter, and her business concluded, happened upon his fallen form.
Once satisfied with her handiwork, Hermione sat back on her haunches, still kneeling in front of her patient. No sooner had she moved back that she felt the man's free hand slide up the path of the rip in her dress, his warm skin caressing her exposed knee above her garter.
"I could show you even more appreciation in due time, lovely creature…" The man dared say to her with a grin splitting his face.
Hermione shot up so quickly she almost lost her balance, careening backwards a few steps.
"Sir, you forget yourself. I am not one to hurt a man already down, but do not tempt me or I shall smart that wicked mouth of yours." She was shocked and outraged. What must have given him the idea that she was a fallen woman? Her face felt hot with shame and indignation. How ungrateful can one be?
She spun around to compose herself. She was very close to leaving him to his fate, but the sage training of Mrs Sprout tugged on her conscience. The mark of a good healer being never to deny help to anyone, no matter how undeserving they turn out to be.
Draco realised the error of his way at once. Not only was he deeply chastised by her harsh words, but he saw the respectable bonnet still pinned at the back of her head. He then noticed the finery of her dress, which while of a simple design, was made of the softest muslin. He finally recalled her tearing through the linen of the prettiest petticoat to bandage his arm. His mortification was complete. His shame was boundless. His humility, if belated, was genuine at that moment.
"Please forgive me. I have behaved in the most ungentlemanlike manner. I beg of you, I shall refrain from further embarrassment. Miss...?" Draco pushed himself standing with difficulty.
As Hermione turned back around, he was lanced by the fiercest glare coming from her deep flaxen eyes. Her entire persona radiated wrath, which he felt at this point to be well deserved. Her curls seemed to be quivering under the spell of her raging temper. And yet, against all expectations, she replied with a controlled albeit shaking voice. "Hermione McGonagall."
She didn't give him time to introduce himself though, so enraged that she was, she could not bear the sound of his voice at the present. "You will need rest and proper bandaging on that shoulder if you hope to recover without any lasting impairment. I shall take you to Elston, it's not but three miles away. From there I will entreat the assistance of our neighbours to take you home."
Hermione realised she was being rude. But was his behaviour earlier not some excuse for incivility, if she was being uncivil? She left him on the spot to look for his horse. The animal hadn't ventured further than the clearing and appeared to be enjoying the crisp grass growing near the pond. She gathered his reins to lead him back to his owner.
"You ought not to be walking, Sir. I would recommend you get back on the saddle using this stump here. I shall provide assistance and lead you back." Hermione steadied the horse, softly stroking his muzzle to keep him still. Draco complied without saying a word, he understood his dismissal for what it was. He easily leaped from the stump onto his saddle, applying but the lightest pressure on her offered hand.
Hermione made good on her promise, and led them out of the woods towards her village taking the most direct route. She never turned around nor spoke a single word. They arrived in a small hamlet, the main street bordered by a couple of large farm houses and a few genteel brick buildings grouped together around a small chapel. She stopped at the smithy, to enquire after one Charles Weasley.
From the darkened building, out came an imposing man, sporting long flaming red hair tied at the back of his neck. He was dressed finely in a deep green coat and had seemed deep in conversation with the blacksmith.
"Charlie, I'm so relieved to find you here!" Hermione beamed at the man. "You will never believe that story if I were to tell you, so I guess it's best that I don't." She turned back quickly to give Draco his first look since the forest. "This gentleman here would need your help to make his way back home. Could I please entreat you to provide him with some assistance?"
"Miss Hermione, of course. Anything for you. But are you alright? What happened to your dress? If Lady Minerva were to see you like this, she would have kittens." Draco could very well see from his vantage point the warmth in the other man's eyes. He envied his easy friendship with Miss Hermione, it seemed so natural to them both. Although Draco would easily wager that friendship wasn't the first feeling on this man's mind, not even the second.
"I must make haste and run home to change. I trust your discretion, but be assured that all is well. I just provided some healing assistance to the rider in question. He will be able to explain more as you take him back from whence he came." Hermione waved at Charles Weasley, picked up her dress and ran into a large brick house to the left. Her brisk departure offered the two men plenty of ankle to delight them both.
Charles turned back to Draco, his face no longer as amiable. "I would be weary for you Sir, if I didn't know Miss Hermione so well. Whatever must have taken place for her to dismiss you so?"
A question that, for countless reasons, Draco couldn't answer.
To quote my previous fic: 'Draco saw this going differently in his mind'. A humbled Draco is a rare sight indeed, surely it will not stay that way for long...