---Chapter Two

Hermione stayed by his side until he reawoke, and all the time her mind was whirling. She figured immediately that Malfoy could not be taken back to Hogwarts, even if she had managed to drag him there herself. She didn't know exactly why he was lying here in this obscure little room, mangled as he was, but she figured that it couldn't be for any honest reason. Hermione strongly suspected Malfoy's condition to be connected to the orders, or possibly even the actions, of Voldemort; with her old schoolmate's unabashed ties to the Death Eaters, this could be the only logical conclusion. Hermione reeled with questions. The answers could possibly hold some small insight into the actions of the enemy.

When Draco finally began to regain consciousness, Hermione wasted no time in conjuring up a little water to revive him. He came around slowly, for it was very obvious that he was greatly wounded. Hermione applied what magic she knew to his wounds and cleaned up the blood, or at least as much of it as she could, but Malfoy seemed to suffer from more than simple abrasions. From the way that his leg and arm were twisted grotesquely, Hermione guessed that they were both broken.

"Malfoy," she prodded gently as he began to open his eyes and look around in a momentary daze. He locked on her as she spoke and his gaze seemed to harden.

"What are you doing here?" he asked accusingly, though his voice was weak.

"I'm saving you," Hermione retorted promptly. "I heard you moaning so I followed the noise." Malfoy didn't seem to hear her as he fell back against the floor. He winced as he tried to move his broken arm. Hermione laid a restraining hand on his chest, forcing him to remain still.

"Why are hurt, Draco?" she asked softly.

Malfoy lay still, and appeared to be thinking hard. His features sharpened and lines began to form over his brow as he ruminated. Hermione guessed that he might be loathe to tell her the truth, especially if it concerned his master, Lord Voldemort, whom she was sure he still held rigid allegiance too.

"Who did this to you?" she prompted. "Was it Voldemort?"

Malfoy twitched, but it wasn't through fear of the name like the reactions of so many of those who worked and attended school at Hogwarts. It was out of anger. Hermione figured that she had guessed right.

"Death Eaters?"

This time Malfoy remained without expression. Hermione sighed. "Well, all right," she said finally. "I won't ask you anymore questions today. You're a terrible mess right now anyways." She surveyed him, lying there, and as if he sensed her gaze, his eyes opened.

"I can't leave you here," Hermione said, though more to herself than to him. "I should take you back to Hogwarts..." Malfoy shook his head urgently; so urgently that Hermione became alarmed. "Very well!" she tried to calm him down. "I won't take you back to the school, but I know very few spells for setting bones, and you'll need much more skill than mine to set broken limbs like you have if you intend to walk again."

She had to do something about his condition, even if she couldn't take him back to the school for proper medical aid. (The thought of turning down what was most practical made her shudder.) But she was resourceful, and deliberated with the idea of setting the broken limbs into muggle splints. Hermione had never set a splint before but she'd read a book in which it had been done.

"It shouldn't be too hard," she murmured to herself. Then to Malfoy, "Wait here. I'll be right back."

Hermione scuttled out of the cave and up into the fresh air. The change in atmosphere was intoxicating and so much more preferable to the stifling surroundings of the cave that she nearly forgot what she had come for. "Find a couple good sticks," Hermione reminded herself, almost reprovingly.

Finding a good stick in the forest turned out to be harder than it had seemed. No matter how many of them a person managed to find during his lifetime, the moment you actually needed one they all disappeared.

"It's rather as if they've all gone into hiding!" said Hermione in exasperation after a good deal of fruitless searching had compelled her to stop and collect her wits.

With a final attempt she drew out her wand and aimed it at a seedling tree. Within moment she had spliced it and armed herself with five stout branches.

"Excellent," she said, beaming, and wondering how Muggle Boy Scouts did it easily enough for them to want to go back and make it a hobby. The size and length of the branches made the trip down into the cave a good deal more difficult, but Hermione managed to wrench her way through.

The light at the end of her wand shone over a much paler Malfoy lying on the ground and it was with a sickening start that Hermione realized he was getting worse. Oh dear, she thought anxiously. "I've got the sticks, now all I need is some rope...or something."

Hermione raised her wand again and conjured up enough twine to bind several broken limbs. "Very good," she said, and laughed nervously as it occurred to her that she was losing her calm. Cleaing her throat, she set to work over Malfoy. He was very weak and did nothing to help her at all, but his inactivity made it easier to set the splint. At least he wasn't struggling, she told herself.

After what seemed like days but was in actuality only a few hours, Hermione succeeded in setting the arm and leg well enough to please even her demanding eye.

"There," she said happily. "You ought to heal up decently now. Just don't move more than you need to or you might upset the splint." Hermione looked at her patient and felt a twinge of pity well up. Again her curiousity nearly overwhelmed her as she wondered just what had put him into such a state. But Malfoy offerred no more explanation now than before.

At least he was sitting up. She had managed to help him prop his back against the wall in order to get him out of the grotesque postion he had crumpled into before. Hermione stood up and dusted off the knees of her jeans before going to the tunnel and looking out. The sky was growing dark, and she knew that she should be getting back.

"I'll bring you food and water, so you won't starve," she assurred Malfoy, kneeling down in front of him again to make sure that he heard her, but he didn't look up. He was inspecting his good hand, turning it over, back and forth as he examined the gashes on both sides.

"I want a wand." It was the most he'd said since she'd found him. The very idea of his suggestion, however, was preposterous.

Hermione stopped herself from laughing. "I don't think so," she said. "I don't know why you're here, but for whatever reason it may be I cannot let you have a wand. Especially when I don't know what you'll use it for." Malfoy glared at her then, but said nothing. Hermione walked over to the entrance to the room, preparing to leave.

"Hermione?"

She turned back around. "Yes?"

Malfoy seemed to be struggling with his words. "Why...did you kiss me?" Hermione was stunned for a moment as she tried to remember fleetingly when she had ever kissed Malfoy. Then it hit her.

"Oh!" she laughed. "That wasn't a kiss. That was a Muggle form of...rescucitation."

She could have sworn that she saw his eyes narrow.

"Filthy Mudblood," he scowled, and spit vehemently on the ground. Hermione turned sharply and made her way back up through the tunnel to the open air above. She felt shaken, as if someone had struck her. By all accounts, she should have been used to that sort of insult, having received it from Malfoy himself plenty of times back in the old school days. But part of her felt disappointed, almost as if she had suddenly expected Draco to have changed for the better through his wounds. She couldn't have been more wrong about it, and the sting of the old insult still burned in her soul.

Old habits certainly died hard.