Tides

Draco crouched over Hermione's prone body. He reached out a hand and smoothed back a loose tendril of her hair. She really is quite pretty, he allowed. Her bushy hair was confined at the base of her neck and cascaded down to her hips. Secretly, Draco had always quite liked her hair. She's grown into herself, he thought almost sadly. Perhaps if she had been more plain she could have been spared. Perhaps if she had hidden her intelligence… and her lineage.

Grimacing in distaste, Draco set himself to the task ahead of him. There were certain things expected of him. And his father would be most displeased if he did not…

Draco shuddered at the thought. Pulling a green silken handkerchief out of his robe pockets he gently touched it to her face, cleaning away as much crusted blood as he could. Underneath his fingers, he felt her quell beneath his touch. Pulling back, he rocked onto his heels and studied her. Her eyes, glazed over in pain or concentration, absorbed the light, showing almost black. Lightly, her lips moved. Frowning, he considered what he should do. Surely his father would not mind if he cleaned her wound before- THAT. If questioned he would say he did not want her filthy mudblood touching him. Yes, his father should accept that.

"Austy," he called into the dark room.

A faint pop caused Hermione to gasp in fright. Before her stood a battered looking house-elf. His blue eyes watered, and he quickly averted his gaze. "Yes, sir? What is the Master needing?" He squeaked.

"Bring me a bowl of warm water, please. And a few hand towels. And a robe of mine, I suppose," he asked, his voice unexpectedly polite.

A second later, warm water splashed onto his feet. Muttering a binding spell for his loose sleeves, he dipped a towel into the water. Taking a deep breath, he paused.

"Austy, what is that smell?" he glared at the figure cowering next to him.

"I am sorry, Master. Austy will punish himself most grievously for not following Master's orders. Austy is putting a strengthening potion into the water for the ma'am," the creature quivered in fright.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Good, Austy. That was very good of you. Now do help with this." Honestly, house-elves were sometimes not worth the effort. They needed to be coddled or else were likely to kill themselves. Still, he reflected as he wiped blood off of Hermione's neck, it saved him from doing menial tasks such as, shudder, dusting.

Draco threw down the bloodied towel and stood up suddenly, sending Austy trembling into a corner. "Merlin's Shin! She's not even blood awake anymore. She's barely bloody breathing! Every time I manage to bloody clean her bloody neck it's already bloody…bloody again," He finished lamely. With no one to aim his scorn at, his insults lacked a lot of their apathy. Glaring, he stalked about the room, desperately trying to formulate a plan.

Austy, sensing it was not he who made the Master angry, crept back to Hermione's side. Peering into her face, he let out a startled squeak.

"Shh, please," the bloody figure whispered softly. Only Austy's large ears enabled him to hear her.

"Since when is you awake?" Austy scolded just as softly, "You is scaring Master. He is thinking you is dead. You is lying to Master, but noble Master is helping lying ma'am."

"Why?" Hermione sighed. "It doesn't make sense."

"Of course is not making sense. Humans never is making any sense," Austy let out a panicked squeak. "Master should be knowing you is awake!"

Draco, still pacing, watched this silent exchange out of the corner of his eye, wondering why it did not anger him that Hermione had been playing possum. Perhaps it was because he had just been wishing she had been awake. She'll know what to do! He thought excitedly before suppressing the thought.

"Granger," he voice icy more out of habit than disdain, "You're bleeding all over my floor."

Hermione's first instinct was to simply shut her eyes tightly once more. This, however, was not as likely to work the second time around. Breathing deeply Hermione fought to control her heart.

"Do with me what you will, Malfoy," Hermione said bravely, her watering eyes the only hint to her fear.

"Oh, do be quiet," Draco dismissed her with a casual flick of his hand. "How do I get you to stop bleeding onto my floor?"

Hermione shook with fright. Why was this bastard playing at?

Austy choose this moment to intervene on his Master's behalf. "Noble Master is trying to help ma'am. He is only wanting ma'am not to be bleeding anymore."

Draco, who had been coolly impassive in stance, suddenly suppressed the urge to fidget- a nervous habit he hadn't indulged in since grade school. Hermione's gaze pierced him, delving into such forbidden questions as why?

"I'm not as horrid as you seem to think I am," Draco defended himself.

Her stern gaze did not waver. She did not trust him. That much was painfully clear.

"It's not as if I wish you dead." His voice was steel. How dare she question his motives? He could be having his way with her, plunging into her depths, mindless of her pain in his ecstasy. Her robe lay half open, showing a low-cut undershirt. Her bosoms heaved in spite of herself, sweat glistening in the candlelight.

Draco strode to where she lay. Her honey eyes followed his movements as he sat next to her, mindless of the blood that stained his clothing. "I've seen enough death, Hermione. Please. Let me help you." His voice, schooled to be unforgiving, sounded so unlike itself. His eyes softened, gleaming bright.

Hermione did not move.

For several long moments the only noise in the room was Austy's gentle scrubbing. Draco, eyes downcast, refused to meet her narrowing gaze.

"What's happened to me?" she whispered finally.

Draco, still training his eyes downward, answered in clipped sentences. "There was a poison, Crudus Libere, in the spike. I've never heard of it before."

"Crudus Libere," Hermione tasted the words. "Translated that means…Bleed Free. Oh yes, I remember now. Crudus Libere, a powerful poison first used during the French Revolution was outlawed by the Code of Merlin 18:3:5 in March of 1921. Even in the most minute of doses, this potion if deposited into the blood stream will target all platelets in the host system, causing even the smallest of cuts to bleed continuously until death or the injection of the antidote. Unfortunately, this poison is one of the 64 unadversus poisons currently known to Potions Masters."

Draco looked at her pointedly. When it became apparent that Hermione was done with her anecdote, Draco rolled his eyes. "And what does all that mean, exactly?"

"Oh, honestly," Hermione couldn't help being irritated at his ignorance, even through the pain. "Unadversus means you can't simply distill the poison to discover an antidote. It's completely separate from the poison itself."

Draco's blank look didn't budge.

"It means I will die unless you get me to a Professor Snape," Hermione said. Snape would save her. She was sure of it. For a while, at the end of her sixth year, after Dumbledore had been killed, she had doubted his allegiance. But during the final battle, when her and Luna had unwittingly stumbled upon Bellatrix Lestrange's systematic torture of one Severus Snape, rather that using their blunder as a smoke cover to escape (a thought he later admitted to having), he fought through his pain to protect them.

"He'll help me."

His black robes swept out of the room, the door slamming at his retreating back. He rested his forehead on the cool oak, free from her piercing eyes. He was condemning her to die.

"I can't, Hermione. It's not an option," he whispered.

She heard.