Chapter 2

Hermione lay there, stunned. Draco's body covered her almost completely, his weight heavy on top of her. She almost panicked and then stopped. Wrapping her arms tightly around Draco, she squeezed her eyes together tightly and said, "Destination, Determination, Deliberation."

With a POP, she apparated them both back to her flat in London. She opened her eyes widely, staring at the peeled plaster on the ceiling above her. She had landed exactly where she wanted to land, on her full sized bed. She released a sigh of relief, and let go of Draco's body.

He rolled off of her onto his back. She propped herself up to examine him by the stream of moonlight coming through the window. His eyes were still closed and his breathing was shallow. His skin was white, whiter than normal, and it was freezing cold. He had dark bruises under his eyes and a long scrape that ran the length of his right cheek. His hair was so dirty that it was no longer blond.

And, he smelled. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. He was lying on her bed. He needed a bath, badly.

Gently, she shook him and called his name. There was no response. She shook him harder, and he moaned. Rising from the bed, Hermione flipped on a lamp on the bedside table. Checking on him one last time, she walked over to the bathroom that was adjacent to her room. After turning on the light, she started to fill a bath for him in her old-fashioned, claw-foot tub. In a few minutes, the tub was full of warm water.

She returned to Draco's side, wondering how she was going to get him in there. He had been coherent enough in the forest so she knew that he wasn't beyond doing for himself. He had some strength left in his body, no matter how weak he currently seemed.

"Come on, Draco," she insisted, shaking him again. "You have to help me. I can't carry you."

Draco's eyes fluttered open, his long lashes sweeping against his cheeks. He groaned and tried to sit up. "What?" His eyes didn't seem to focus as they wandered around the room. "Where am I?"

"You're in my flat," replied Hermione, glad he was lucid again. She stepped back from him, letting him absorb his surroundings. "In London."

"How did I get here?" He sat on the bed, his legs hanging over the edge, his elbows propped on his knees. He closed his eyes, his face twisted up in discomfort, his hand reaching up to clutch the side of his head.

"I apparated us back." Hermione placed her hands on both of his shoulders. He looked up at her, focusing on her features. "I drew you a bath. I think it might be a good idea for you to take one," she continued.

He made no move to rise, slumping over to one side. She realized that adrenaline had gotten him a long way in that forest. He wouldn't have lasted much longer if she had not come along.

"Here," she said, helping him sit up once again. "I'm going to help you undress and get into the bath, okay?"

He nodded in response. Silently, Hermione began to unbutton his once-pristine white shirt. He let her slide the shirt off one arm, and then the other. Hermione sucked in her breath. Dark bruises were scattered across his ribs, and a long, deep red scar marked his white back.

"What did they do to you?" she whispered to herself.

"They… they locked me up," said Draco. "I wasn't sure why."

Hermione knelt down, glancing up at him in surprise when he answered. She busied herself by taking off his boots. They were dirty, but they were well-made, of very fine leather. So were his clothes, she noted, as she took off one sock and then the other. She wondered at it, since it didn't seem to fit the attire of a prisoner.

She realized that the last two articles of clothing that needed to be removed were his trousers and any undergarments which he wore. She swallowed. She had been close to Draco several years ago, but she hadn't been that intimate with him. She closed her eyes. I am a normal 22 year old witch, she told herself. Most witches my age have seen lots of men naked. You can do this.

She opened her eyes again and looked up at his face. He was staring back at her vacantly. "Stand up," she ordered. "Let me help you take your pants off."

Obligingly, Draco stood and didn't murmur a word as she unbuttoned, unzipped and pulled down his pants. He lifted one foot out of the pool of cloth at his feet and then the other. Hermione eyed the white boxer shorts he still had on. She made a tacit decision not to go there.

She led him into the bathroom and helped him sit down in the tub. He hissed as he sank lower. She knew that the shock of the warmth would be harsh on his skin, which was the main reason she hadn't poured scalding hot water into the bath. She rolled up her own sleeves and leaned over the tub. Silently, she picked up the soap and the washcloth and began lathering it up.

With slow, methodical strokes, she soaped his back, his chest, his arms and his legs. He even allowed her to clean his face and behind his ears. After she was done, she grabbed for her strawberry scented shampoo. He closed his eyes as she washed his hair. After twenty minutes, they were done, and Hermione was as wet as Draco was.

He didn't seem to notice the way her baby blue blouse clung to her curves and revealed her navel through the thin fabric. Her long hair, which was pulled into a ponytail, was sagging down her back. A thin line of sweat covered her brow.

"Hold on," she told him. "I'll be back. I'm going to get a towel." She hurried out of the room, grabbed the first one she could find, and rushed back to the bathroom. In her absence, Draco had stood. And he had taken off the white boxers. They were now floating in the tub.

Hermione gulped, aware that a warm tendril of desire had snaked its way down her belly to her legs. She stood, holding the towel limply in front of her. "I…I… I got you a towel." She thrust it in his direction.

He stepped out of the tub, onto the bathmat, and reached for the warm terrycloth in her hands. Water was running in rivulets down the contours of his chest, winding its way down his abdomen, twisting down his thighs. Hermione couldn't stop staring. Draco didn't seem to notice. He was busily drying off his face with the towel, then his upper body, legs and feet, and then, to Hermione's disappointment, Draco wrapped the towel around his waist.

Hermione stepped back from the doorway to allow him entrance into the bedroom. Waking from her reverie, she reached for his arm and led him over to the bed again. She pulled down the coverlet and the sheet. "I think you should sleep," she stated, guiding him to sit on the bed and then lay down. His exhaustion was beginning to overtake him and he gave into it. In a fit, he yanked off the towel and lay his head down on her pillow.

Hermione pulled the covers over his body, not without glancing down at his lower body, and then stroked the hair off of his face. His eyes were once again closed and his face had softened. Her lips curved into a slow smile. She bent down to turn off the lamp and began to make her way to the door. A hand shot out from under the covers and grabbed her by the forearm.

Hermione was forced to bend down over Draco. His silver grey eyes were staring at her intently. "Thank you," he said, and pulled her even closer. Wrapping his hand around the nape of her neck, he placed a well-aimed kiss on her lips.

A small moan escaped Hermione. He felt so good, just like she remembered. He released her just as suddenly as he had grabbed her. Hermione pulled back. He had turned his head away.

"Good night," she whispered, quietly leaving the room. Where had he been for all those years?