A/N: I'm so glad you guys are intrigued by the story. Thanks so much to all who are reading and all who have commented. A very special thank you to my alpha reader, LaDeeDaa; and my beta reader: astrangefan without whom I could not manage.
Getting Acquainted
The trip back to her parents' house was actually easier because she had a mission. With Rilla's help, both Malfoy and Nott were safely levitated and cushioned allowing Hermione to wrap her arms around Nott and Rilla to do the same thing with Malfoy. Hermione Apparated them all to the same spot she'd brought Harry a few hours earlier.
"Here, in through the back," Hermione directed, leading the way into the back door, around the large kitchen, through the hall, to the foyer, and finally up the stairs. The two witches made quick work of getting both unconscious men settled into the two medical beds that Kingsley had stepped in to demand St. Mungo's supply.
Unspeakable Druguar noted everything seemed to be in order and asked, "Will you need me further tonight?"
"No," Hermione assured her boss. "I'm just going to prepare the house while Malfoy sleeps off the potion. Padma has sent over everything I could possibly need. The first order of business is keeping Malfoy comfortable enough that I don't have to continue to give him the Sleeping Draught. The last thing we need is to get him addicted to that on top of everything else."
"Too right," Rilla nodded. "I've fast tracked the Floo access. I'm going to put in the paperwork to have Healer Patil transferred to this case, exclusively. Yes, yes. At equal pay, of course," she added. She must have seen the concerned look on Hermione's face.
"I know you did a year and a half of Healer training, but I would feel better if someone with the full training were on call." Hermione nodded. She also understood that it meant she'd have to be very selective about what she shared with Padma.
"I'm putting Hogwarts on the back burner for the moment. McGonagall has it contained. I don't want to leave that to another Unspeakable," Rilla confessed. Hermione's heart stuttered with pride. "For the moment, this is the priority. When we get Nott and Malfoy more stable, we can talk about you and an excursion to the school. You'll be working with the Auror Department on that one." Hermione secretly hoped Harry and Ron would be assigned the case.
"Sure," Hermione said, nodding her agreement. "Obviously I'll be here for the next several days. When I've managed to acclimate them - er, well, Malfoy - to the house, I'll be able to come in and talk about my findings. Please send any notes about the other subjects directly here."
Hermione sighed to herself. It wasn't likely she'd be leaving for a few days at the very least.
Rilla nodded and trotted out the room, toward the backyard so she could Apparate back to the Ministry. Hermione was alone. Well, almost alone.
Best to keep busy.
She turned her attention back to her two charges. This was all on her now. She cast the Tempus charm again. Malfoy would be waking soon, she was sure. She secured the padded hand restraint around his right wrist and hooked it deftly into the arm-rail of the bed.
Next, she busied herself with organising the potions and medical supplies she'd already procured, taking notes for inventory. She'd have to carefully monitor everything that she did and every potion she used. It wasn't just the issue of addiction - which she worried would be a real concern if she didn't find a way to limit the pain being felt by the subjects - but everything she did would need to potentially be replicated. She'd have to take meticulous notes of everything.
Subject 1(Malfoy) has been under the effects of roughly 10 ml of Sleeping Draught for 5 hours. No change. Heartbeat weak but 65 beats per minute (average). Mild fever: 99.5 F Sheen of sweat. Needs bath and mouth cleansing charms. Hair matting in the back from lack of access to hygienic needs. Moaned in pain as he was moved but settled once situated in bed.
She moved over to assess Nott again.
Subject 2 (Nott) has not awakened since first observed this morning. Heartbeat 45 beats per minute but stronger than recorded in the am. Mild fever: 100 F. Cold extremities. Translucent skin. Also needs bath and mouth cleansing charms. Hair matting all over from lack of access to hygienic needs. Only movement when one touches left arm near The Mark.
"Nnnf."
As Hermione was finishing up her observations of Nott, she heard Malfoy stir. 'Malfoy?' she said, her voice calm and clinical. He'd likely be very disoriented when he came to.
"Nnnf." His eyes hadn't opened but he was beginning to move. His right arm pulled at the restraint around his wrist. "Wh-." His eyes snapped open, alert almost instantly. She could see the panic rising in his eyes even though his mouth couldn't quite voice it.
"Malfoy," she said slowly and calmly. "Malfoy, please calm down. You are safe. No one is going to harm you. I'm here to see why you are in such pain."
His eyes were wide as saucers as he stared back at her, his teeth clenched. "Whhhnnnnt?" he bit out finally, still tugging at his restraint.
Hermione approached him with her hands in the air, indicating she had no wand and meant him no harm. "I'm not going to hurt you," she said, her voice taking on the soothing timber she'd used with Crookshanks before he passed. "Do you remember who I am?" She found it hard to believe he wouldn't remember her, but she had no idea what mental state he was currently in.
"Grnnngee," he growled out, his jaw seemingly unable to move on its own.
"Is your jaw locked, Malfoy?" she asked, taking a note about his state. At least he'd stopped pulling at his restrained arm.
"Nnnn," he tried, but his jaw was still locked in place. The panic in his eyes began to intensify.
"I can help with that," Hermione said, rubbing both hands together in order to warm them. "Can I touch you?"
He flinched nearly off the side of the bed as she walked toward him. She swallowed. This version of Draco Malfoy was far more unsettling than the screaming one she'd met in the morning. He looked terrified, panicked, and as if he had little control over himself. This Malfoy was a far cry from the sophisticated, elegant, well-controlled arsehole she'd remembered from Hogwarts.
She'd seen him scared before. He was terrified in the Room of Requirement when the fiendfyre had nearly killed them. But this was a different kind of fear. That had been an immediate 'my life is literally in danger' fear. This sheer panic was bone deep. Malfoy had been holding onto this terror for a very long time.
"I'm not going to hurt you," she promised again. "You are having an after effect from the Cruciatus curse. I get them too. I can unlock your jaw."
He stared at her for more than a minute before grunting and nodding once. She took another deep breath and moved back toward him, warming her hands again before gently holding his jaw on either side, her fingers seeking out just the right spot.
He had a beard now, just slightly darker blonde than the hair on his head. It was also filthy. She reminded herself that they needed to be cleaned or she'd have to get some gloves. He was trembling under her fingers, but she remained calm - spreading her fingers along his jaw back toward his neck and ears, pressing gently at the muscles that were clearly stuck locking his jaw in place.
Just like she'd done with his hands that morning, she moved slowly and deliberately with just the right amount of pressure to message the rigour out of his seized muscles. Forward. Aft. Forward. Aft. After about thirty seconds, his jaw unclenched and he let out an inelegant moan as he was able to open his mouth again.
He wouldn't look at her when she moved away, picking up her notebook again to record the episode.
Subject 1 suffers acute and debilitating aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse. These symptoms do not subside without muscle manipulation nor respond to sleeping potions…
"Wh-what's with Nott?" Draco's gravelly voice pulled her attention from her notes. It sounded like he might not have actually spoken in a very long time.
"He is here for the same reason you are. The Mark - it's hurting you. It's hurting him too, but he's fallen into an unexplained, unconscious state. Records indicate he's been like this for nearly two weeks,' Hermione answered.
She watched his eyes shift down to his left forearm which was currently covered by the black prison robes he wore. "Why are we here?" His voice was still raspy.
"I work with the Department of Mysteries," Hermione said, shifting her weight to lean against the desk she used to use to write her summer essays on as a teen. "We are trying to figure out why The Mark seems to be attacking everyone who bears it - why it is attacking you and Nott worst of all." His eyes darted to hers, a million questions swimming in the steel-grey depths.
"I can explain the work to you at length later, but for now I need to ask you some questions," she said. So far, she was incredibly proud of herself for how clinical and professional she'd kept this entire affair. Inside, her heart was racing and her skin prickled. She was overwhelmed and it did not help that the only coherent subject was the boy - man who had been making her feel worthless since childhood.
Imposter Syndrome. Do you really think you can handle this?
"First of all, how is your pain?" She asked, ready to record his answers.
He seemed to have an internal debate with himself. Several moments passed before he said anything at all and then, finally, "It's manageable for now."
"Can you elaborate?" Hermione asked, her pen scratching the paper as she wrote and spoke at the same time. "Let's use a scale of one to ten - one being no pain at all and ten being the greatest pain you can imagine."
"I know how a one-through-ten scale works," Draco spat. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to avoid snapping at him. Arrogant prick. "It's currently a four."
"And what about when you were first brought into St. Mungos. What would you rate that pain?"
"An eight."
Hermione sucked in a breath. That gut-wrenching, soul searing howl came from an eight? She didn't really think she wanted to know the answer to her next question. "Have you experienced a ten?"
"Too many times to count, Granger," Malfoy said, looking her in the eyes.
She wrote so she didn't have to look at him. His eyes bore into hers in a way that made her want to flee the room. "And if you were to rate the pain of the Cruciatus on a scale, where would you place it?" She had to get an idea of the scale he was using. Since she'd felt that particular curse herself more than once, it would give her a baseline.
"Eight," he said, quietly. Hermione wondered how anything could be endured that was worse than Cruciatus - and more than once.
She finally put down her pen and notebook, eyeing him cautiously. "How often does it get that bad?"
He swallowed. He wasn't looking at her again - appeared to be working very hard not to look at her, in fact. "It reaches at least a seven every day. An eight? Probably weekly. I'm not exactly sure - they don't - they don't let us know what day it is…"
Hermione let out a harsh gasp, slapping her hand over her mouth at once.
His eyes moved up to look into hers again, his penetrating stare was hard and focused. "Does it surprise you that your precious Ministry treats Death Eaters so poorly?" he sneered.
She said nothing. What could she say? Yes. In fact, it had surprised her. Shocked her, even. With the Dementors gone, there had been a lot of talk about the inhumane conditions at Azkaban that had contributed to the mental state of some of the people released - or who'd broken out. Of course, people like Bellatrix Lestrange went in already crazier than a sack full of pixies, but there were others who went in perfectly sane and came out - not. Lucius Malfoy came to mind.
Things were supposed to have been better. Azkaban had moved to utilising magical restraints in the cells and human guards in an attempt to bring about needed reform. Depriving the inmates of basic hygienic care - which they were clearly doing - and not even allowing them a semblance of time. It was barbaric. From a strictly pragmatic perspective, it also made any hope of reformation impossible.
She picked the notebook back up.
Subject 1 has no idea what day it is, nor was he given access to a calendar while incarcerated. He estimates that his pain reaches a seven daily and eight or higher on a weekly basis.
She could tell he was reaching the end of his willingness to be helpful and civil, so she decided to save any further questioning for later.
"Do you think you could stand up if I removed your restraints?" she asked him.
"Of course," he scoffed, clearly offended at the question.
"I am going to release your restraint in order to allow you access to the bathroom," she said, her voice once again that of a clinical observer - not someone who was working hard to keep the tremble out of her voice as she considered Draco Malfoy rifling around her childhood bathroom. "I've transfigured the shower into a bathtub for your use. There are already clothes set out, towels, and you may use any of the soaps or shampoos in there. I must admit, I am not entirely certain what's been left behind…"
She snapped her mouth shut as she began to nervously babble. This assignment was going to be so much harder if he continued to stare at her like that. Even with an inch of grime all over him, tattered prison robes, and slouching over as if the weight of his head were too much to carry, he glared at her with all the condescension of the aristocratic Pureblood she remembered from school.
She decided to just get on with it. Moving back over to him slowly, she pulled out her wand again. He literally jerked back. "I'm not going to hurt you," she said softly. It was a mantra she'd probably have to repeat over and over to him. She tapped the manacle at his wrist, and it popped open.
Immediately, he pulled his right wrist into his left hand and rubbed the skin there. "If you follow me, I'll show you where the bathroom is and how to use the taps. Everything here is Muggle," she added unnecessarily. He didn't have his wand anyway, so he wouldn't have been able to manage in a Wizarding bathroom.
He said nothing but stood with some effort, raising both hands above his head to stretch. She heard the sickening crack of joints popping and felt proud for not shuddering. She'd always detested the sound. Ron used to crack all his knuckles in one go and she felt like puking every time.
He wordlessly followed her out of the room and down the hall to the next door. "This is the bathroom I've set up for you both," she said, motioning for him to go first.
The bathroom used to have a large walk-in three headed shower, but she'd transfigured that entire space into a claw-foot tub. It had taken some work, but she was able to reconfigure the plumbing for her purposes. She actually preferred the new arrangement. Regardless of her preference, it was necessary. She had no way of knowing what state Nott and Malfoy would be in over the course of her observations and certainly it would be impossible to bathe an unconscious Nott in a shower.
"If you come here, I'll show you how to use the taps. This one for cold water, this one for hot. Unlike the charms on our baths, you'll have to utilise both to get to the right temperature. Turn this way for 'on' and this way for 'off'. When you are finished, there is a plug just here," she indicated inside the bottom of the tub where the plug was already situated in the drain.
"The toilet is just here," she pointed to it.
"I know what a fucking toilet is, Granger," Malfoy snapped. She could feel the anger radiating off him then. The civility brought about by shock and surprise had melted into impotent rage.
"Right," she said, flustered. "There is a button on top here. Push that to flush."
She stood there for a moment, awkwardly clasping both hands together. He was purposely avoiding looking at her, instead looking over the clothes she'd laid out for him.
"Well, I'll be back in the other room looking over Nott," she said, backing out of the room. She shut the door behind her when she reached the hall and leaned back against it.
Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
She pushed herself off the door suddenly. Malfoy was in her bathroom, alone - undressing. She needed to get back to work. With shaking hands, she marched back into her old bedroom to continue her work with Nott. She admitted, being asleep made him her much preferred subject.
She checked his vitals again and gently lifted the sleeve of his left arm. The Mark still looked absolutely writhing on his pale skin, but it didn't look any worse than it had this morning. She bit her lip and ventured a touch just at the edge of the mark. Nott jerked, a wince on his otherwise expressionless face.
He needed a bath just as much as Malfoy. She'd have to do it herself. At least she could remove the hair that had grown in sporadic patches along his cheeks and jaw. She silently thanked Ron for teaching her that spell. He'd told her, "Every witch should know how to shave her man," and then dodged her hexes. She smiled at the memory. He's been trying to annoy her - but the spell came in handy, finally.
She cast the spell and gently removed the facial hair that probably had been growing since he arrived in Azkaban five years prior. Nott's beard was far thinner and less full than Malfoy's. Along with being pretty, Nott apparently wasn't all that hairy either. She knew that eventually she'd have to enchant a razor for a better shave, but she was satisfied with her work for the moment.
She picked up the trusty notebook again.
Subject 2 vitals unchanged. The only reactions achieved from the subject occur when The Mark or the black webbing radiating from The Mark are touched. Will research waking spells this evening after bath.
"Tempus." Hermione sighed. It was nearly seven in the evening and she hadn't eaten all day. Malfoy would probably need something to eat too. Not wishing to leave the room for too long, she bounded out of the room, down the stairs and into the kitchen to assemble sandwiches. Rilla had dropped off minimal food supplies, so she'd have to get to a grocery store soon.
When she returned to the bedroom, a clean Malfoy was sitting primly on the edge of the bed he'd previously occupied. He looked and smelled clean, but his hair was dripping wet, and it made him look a bit of a drowned rat. It was unusual to see a Wizard with wet hair. Drying charms took care of that and, unless you had a wild mane of curls like Hermione did, it was perfectly adequate after a bath.
He had on a pair of her father's weekend sweatpants and an old Chudley Cannons jersey of Ron's that Hermione could not for the life of her remember why it was at her parents' house. She'd literally never in her life seen him so casual. Their entire time at Hogwarts it had been school robes, wizarding suits, dress robes. Casual was clearly not something Malfoys did.
It felt weird, oddly intimate seeing him that way - even more so than seeing his hair matted and filthy. "Some of your hair has matted," she said quietly as she set the plate she made next to him. "If you'd like, I can cut the mats out."
His hand absently reached toward the back of his head, grimacing as he felt the parts of his hair that washing had not untangled. His eyes hardened. She felt she'd stepped into a trap. His left arm was shaking, and his eyes bore into her.
"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," he bit out. "I'm not a bloody House Elf in need of rescuing."
Hermione lifted her hands in that familiar placating motion again. "Malfoy, I'm just trying to make you as comfortable as possible. I don't know how long you'll be here. There's no reason to get upset."
"Upset!?" he nearly shrieked, the trembling in his left hand began in the right one as well. "I don't even know where I am! I'm hauled out of my cell, into St. Mungos, drugged, and I wake up here with Potter's Mudblood fussing over me like a bloody wounded Hippogriff!"
Hermione resisted the urge to pick up her notebook and take notes. She had a feeling that would not help matters. "I understand your frustration," she'd almost said 'fear' but she had a feeling that would not help matters.
"To address those concerns, we gave you a Sleeping Draught because your pain was unbearable. St. Mungos refused treatment, so the Department of Mysteries agreed it was best to move you and Nott to a safe place only accessible by a few. You are, right now, in my old bedroom in the house in which I was raised," she explained. She'd ignored the blood-slur. The last thing she needed was to get in a petty argument with her subject. But, Merlin, did he try her patience.
"Your house," he finally said after several moments. He looked around, taking in the surroundings. Her childhood room was large and well decorated in creams and teals. Her mother had redecorated it entirely for her sixteenth birthday with the help of a very posh firm in London. She'd moved the four-poster bed that usually sat in the middle out to accommodate Malfoy and Nott's hospital beds. She had an entire wall of built-in bookcases and still not enough space for all the books she owned. They'd spilled over onto the cream-colored wood dressers. The hardwood floor - laid in a herringbone pattern - was mostly obscured by a thick, soft rug that she'd fallen in love with the moment she saw it in the store. She had two desks - one for her homework and one for bookbinding - a hobby she'd picked up after her Fourth Year at Hogwarts.
She watched him take the room in, his penetrating stare looking over every square inch. 'It's pretty posh for a Muggle,' he sneered, but there was less bite to the tone. She could tell he was curious about her room. Even if he hated her guts, there was always something intriguing about getting into the personal space of someone you only know in a very one-dimensional capacity. She couldn't stand the git, but if she'd been given access to his bedroom, she'd have snooped every square inch of it. Besides, she knew Malfoy thought all Muggles lived in various stages of poverty.
"Yes, well, my parents are - were very wealthy," she admitted. It gave her a bit of satisfaction to upend his bigoted world views.
"The house is warded for your safety and mine. You obviously cannot get out. So, too, no one can get in without my permission. I will be working with a single Healer and you will come to no harm by either of us," she promised. She had to build his trust. If he didn't trust her, he wouldn't be candid with her. She did not want to fight him every step of the way.
"This is a Muggle house," she went on, "which will actually benefit you and Nott. As neither of you are able to utilise your magic, there are myriad conveniences here that will let you cook, clean, and entertain yourselves without the need of magic."
"I'm sure," his sneer had its bite back again - as well as some eye rolling. His lip curled and she assumed he had no intention of learning 'inferior Muggle technology.'
"I can't be here at all times," she said, hands on her hips as she finally let some of her frustration creep through. "If you want to survive, you'll have to learn."
He said nothing, but she could tell he wasn't finished complaining about the idea. Instead of belabouring the point, though, his attention went to Nott, lying upon the bed to his right. "Can you wake him up?" he asked.
"I am going to try," she said. "Do you know why this might be affecting him more than anyone else?"
Draco seemed to just notice the sandwich she'd placed next to him. He picked it up and took a bite so large he nearly swallowed it whole. He chewed like a man starved and she noticed his eyes roll back in his head momentarily as he savoured the food. It was nothing more than a peanut butter and jelly on wheat. It was hardly gourmet. But he ate it like it was his last meal. Hermione felt a pang of discomfort as she considered why. She nibbled her own sandwich.
What were they doing to the prisoners in Azkaban?
"I haven't seen him in five years," Draco said. So much time had passed since she asked her question she was momentarily confused. Oh, Nott. He hadn't seen Nott since they were incarcerated.
Were they all in solitary confinement at all times?
"Who do you regularly interact with in Azkaban?" she asked, pulling her notebook out again and clicking her pen.
He looked at her as if she'd grown gills out of her neck. "There are about four guards I've seen in five years and no one else," he said as if her question were the stupidest thing he'd ever been asked. "What? Did you think we had a common room where we talked about our day?"
She flinched. "How's the pain now?" she asked, ignoring his rhetorical question.
"Five," he said. "Usually after an episode, I get about a half a day's reprieve." She felt hope that he'd offered that information without prompting.
"Okay," she said, placing the notebook back on her desk. "There is no time like the present. Let's finish our dinner, and I'll take you downstairs and show you how to use the kitchen appliances.
Malfoy loathed taking direction, or at least he loathed taking direction from her. Despite the fact that he'd probably never laid eyes on any of the appliances in the large kitchen, he was too proud or too stubborn to admit it and every time Hermione showed him a new item he growled at her as if she, personally, were responsible for his ignorance.
"Love this, don't you?" he finally snapped as he fumbled with the coffee maker.
"Pardon?" she replied. She was not - absolutely not - going to let him goad her into an argument. Rationally, she understood how powerless he was, how frustrating it must have been to wake up in the home of someone you hate knowing they hold all the cards. Then, to be forced to admit you need them to teach you things. She knew that.
But fuck him, to be honest.
She was growing tired, weary, and she wasn't sure exactly how much she could take. It had been a monstrously long day and what she really wanted to do was bathe Nott, get them both tucked into bed, and go to sleep.
"You love lording all this Muggle shit over me," he said, his eyes challenging her. He said the word 'Muggle' as if it were a curse.
"Yes, exactly," She said sarcastically before she could stop herself. "This is precisely what I wanted to be doing at eight o'clock on this Wednesday evening. I wanted to have Draco-sodding-Malfoy puttering around my parents' kitchen, teaching him to warm water and cook a basic can of soup without burning the place to ashes.
What's that, Harry? You and Ron are headed to the pub to see our friends? No thanks. I'm in for the night. No! Don't you dare worry about me. I'm teaching Death Eaters how to load a bloody dishwasher. I'm set."
He sneered at her, clinching both fists at his side. "Fuck you, Mudblood." he hissed.
"Not just now," Hermione quipped. He looked so affronted at the insinuation and she almost cackled. "For both of our sakes, I hope you are as fast a learner at this 'Muggle shit' as you were at Potions. If so, you'll endure few lectures from me. But if you pick it up like you did, say, duelling, be expected to take notes next time."
She knew it was petty, but she was tired and he was being a prick. "You are, of course, free to explore the house with the exception of the warded room at the top of the stairs."
Not that room. Never that room.
She turned her back on him and made her way back up the stairs and to where Nott was still resting - hopefully peacefully.
That was the nice thing about Theo Nott. Now, it had only been about twelve hours, but he hadn't given her one single problem the entire time. He'd even got his heart rate up in the time she'd been giving Malfoy kitchen appliance lessons. That certainly earned him a bath.
She quickly moved next door to the bathroom, shuffling past Malfoy as he reentered the bedroom and sat back down on his bed.
She started the water for the bath, put in some essential oils for good measure - they weren't doing her any good in the cabinet and she didn't like how they interacted with her hair anyway.
Back in the room she eyed Nott and considered the best way to manage. She planned to levitate him to the bath, but now she was faced with the prospect of undressing him. Normally, she'd just strip him and get it done. It was clinical. She'd seen naked men. But she felt awkward about doing it without any consent from him. It felt like an unnecessary violation.
She bit her lip. "Malfoy, if I ask you a favour are you going to bite my head off? It's not for me, it's for Nott."
"What?" he asked, but the bit from his tantrum downstairs was not there.
"I need to bathe him. If I give you some pants for his modesty, would you mind putting them on him?" She asked. She waited for him to say something snide, call her a prude or laugh at her. But he surprised her.
"Fine," he said, holding out his hand for the underwear she'd set out for Nott. She tossed it at him and he caught it deftly.
She went back to the bathroom to turn off the water, check the heat, and pull-out new towels. When she came back to the bedroom, Nott was naked but for a pair of loose-fitting boxer shorts, Malfoy standing awkwardly next to him.
Levitating him had been quick work and as she settled him into the bathtub she decided to start at his head and work her way down. Without Nott to protest, she cut the mats out of his curly black hair. Luckily, it still left him with a rather lot of length. She washed his hair quickly, letting her levitation charm hold him up as she pushed his head back into the water.
She'd never bathed another man before. She'd taken a single bath with Ron, but at the time they'd been preoccupied. She certainly hadn't had to do all the washing. This was so intimate. Yes, it was clinical. She wasn't aroused, nor did she feel like blushing as she might in another circumstance with a man in her bathtub. But Nott was incredibly vulnerable and she felt a lot of pressure to protect him as she cleaned the dirt and grime off his skin.
She utilised a washcloth and moved down his neck to his chest, making quick work of cleaning him properly. Then his arms. First his right. Then his left.
"Annnnnngg!" Her eyes snapped up to Nott's. They were open. Terrified black pools stared back at her and he thrashed for purchase.
Panic. He's having a panic attack.
"Aaaannnnnnggg," He cried, an inhuman cry as he absently reached out and grabbed her hair, pulling her into the water - his overgrown nails stripping skin from her scalp. She pushed herself up and gulped for air.
His hands moved down to her shoulders as he clawed at her like a wild animal. She tried to get her arm out from around him and to her wand holster, groaning as she felt the skin of her neck rip open as Nott clawed at her like a wild animal.
Wand. You need your wand.
"Malfoy!" she shrieked. "Help!" Nott let out a wail and blindly pushed her back under the water again.