A/N: Here's the first full length chapter! I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 2: Traitor
Hermione woke to the now unfamiliar softness of a mattress. It was enough to set alarm bells ringing in her mind. She hadn't slept on a proper mattress in months. She cracked her eyes just a sliver and took stock of the room around her. Before she had the chance to examine much, the sleep fogging her brain began to lift, and memories began to trickle in. She glanced down at her arm. It was wrapped in pristine white bandages. It was rather ironic how clean they were considering the word they hid. She pushed the thought away and tried not to think about the scar that would likely haunt her for the rest of her life.
She pushed herself gently into a sitting position and did her best to remember what had happened. They had been running from the snatchers, but they were caught and taken to Malfoy Manor. She had cast a stinging hex on Harry, her own pathetic attempt at concealing his identity. It may have worked if his face wasn't known far and wide across the wizarding world. The next thing she remembered was Draco Malfoy entering her line of sight. She had known they were dead when recognition lit up his pale gray eyes, but he had opened his mouth, hesitated, and then lied. Perhaps it was that hesitation, that sliver of goodness that was clearly still in him that had caused her to try to call out to him in the worst moments of her life.
He had always been an object of her undying scrutiny and curiosity. Never before had there been such a mystery as Draco Malfoy. He was sharp, gentle, rude, kind, selfish, cunning, selfless, brash, and a whole other slew of contradictions. He tried his hardest to present himself one way around certain people, but she had seen another side of him. It wasn't directed toward her, of course, but the Hogwarts rumor mill knew no bounds, and it didn't take long for her to get word of the way he was with the younger years, even the Gryffindors, but only when there was no audience, no one to posture for.
She knew he would be punished for saving them, for saving her. The thought made her cringe. She knew intimately what punishments from Voldemort's followers were like. She sent up a silent prayer to whoever was listening that he would be alright. Her curiosity was brought to life again when she remembered the bond he had created between them. Something in her stomach stirred at the thought that he was willing to take her pain away, even at his own expense, but she crushed it. She'd been shocked when suddenly her pain faded. She had felt nothing at all until Lestrange's knife had brought her back to reality, and she'd played the part of the tortured mudblood.
At that moment she heard footsteps on the stairs. Seconds later the door to her room swung open to reveal a very haggard looking Harry, who's eyes widened when he saw that she was awake. Ron was right on his heels who looked just as tired and worn as Harry. Twin smiles broke out on their faces when they saw her, and the happiness on their faces chased away the gloom. Smile lines at the corners of their eyes replaced dark circles underneath, and their deep frowns became carefree grins. It was an expression neither of them had worn in a while, and it was enough to have her grinning right back.
"Hey, 'Mione. How are you feeling?" Harry asked. She considered the question.
"I'm fine," she settled on answering. Harry raised an eyebrow. She sighed and her eyes fluttered closed for a second. He was getting entirely too perceptive as they got older. "Really, Harry, I'm alright." She meant it. At that moment she was just glad to be alive. Harry held her gaze for a few seconds before nodding. They descended into a silence that would have been peaceful had it not been for Ron's very obvious desire to say something, no doubt something tactless that Harry had forbidden him from bringing up.
"Ron, just spit it out," she said, amused. The tops of his ears turned red, but he wasted no time in speaking.
"So, Malfoy." He left the statement hanging, an open ended question or opportunity to share any ideas.
"I don't know," Harry said. "I know he isn't the devil incarnate like he wants to pretend. I could see it that night on the Astronomy tower. He was afraid, in tears, and ready to lower his wand and let Dumbledore help if Snape hadn't shown up."
Before Hermione could analyze why that statement made her a little bit giddy, she became suddenly aware of something touching her leg that wasn't her sock or the blanket. She threw back the blanket, and her mouth dropped open as she reached down and pulled her purple bag out of her sock. She had forgotten it was there in all of the chaos.
"Hermione, you're bloody brilliant!" Ron exclaimed.
"Always the tone of surprise." she shot back. "What did I miss?" It suddenly occurred to her that more events had transpired after she was unconscious. "After you stunned me, I mean." Harry grimaced and took a seat beside her on the edge of the bed.
"Ron and I were about to go with Dobby," he started, "when Pettigrew came down. He saw Malfoy on the ground, so I had to tackle him before he could shout for help. He was going to kill me. His hand was wrapped around my throat." Harry shuddered, his hand ghosting the area as though he could rub away Pettigrew's touch. "But he didn't. He hesitated. He let go. I guess Vol-" Hermione gave him a sharp look. "I guess he put some kind of curse on it because the metal arm knew he had betrayed his master." He hesitated, his eyes glassy and far away. "I tried to stop it, but the hand choked him to death."
"Oh, Harry," she whispered. She leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. "It wasn't your fault."
"There's more," he whispered, and she could hear the pain in his voice. "Dobby popped you and the others away and came back. We had gone upstairs to rescue Griphook. We got him out, but Dobby, he didn't make it." She felt a tear land on her hands, which were clenched together on her lap.
"I'm so sorry, Harry."
"I'm just so glad you're okay," he murmured. She smiled. They fell into another silence that remained until Bill Weasley's voice broke it.
"Ron, come here a moment please!" Ron loosed a deep sigh.
"I'll be right back," he muttered over his shoulder as he left the room, shutting the door gently behind him.
"So," Harry said as soon as the latch clicked.
"So?" She raised an eyebrow inquiringly.
"Do you, well," he paused. "Do you like Malfoy?" The question brought her up short. Did she? She had always harbored a certain fascination with him. He was her inverted mirror. They were two sides of the same coin, and it had always drawn her attention. Perhaps in third or fourth year she might describe her little obsession as a crush, but now it seemed rather silly. He was horrible to her. He always had been, but if that was the case, why was it so hard for her to shake her head at Harry?
"No," she forced out. "No." Harry looked skeptical but didn't comment. Hermione was grateful. It wasn't something she had considered before, but now that Harry had planted the thought in her mind, the gears were turning. They fell back into silence until Ron returned with a tray with three plates. They sat together and ate, listening to Potterwatch while they did.
Hermione woke early the next day, and the morning passed calmly. She was well enough to get out of bed. She joined Harry, Ron, Bill, Fleur, Luna, and Dean at the table for breakfast. She walked out onto the porch with the others when they went to bid goodbye to Luna and Dean, both of whom were returning to Hogwarts. She and Harry had tried to talk them out of it, it was undoubtedly a bad idea, but they would not be persuaded, so all of the occupants of Shell Cottage gathered on the porch to see them off. The rather monotonous air of the day was broken around noon when Harry, for the first time since they had been captured, dropped to a knee clutching at his face. When he had collected himself, he refused to explain and rushed off to speak to Ollivander and Griphook. He returned in good spirits. Apparently the next Horcrux had been located. His cheerful nature quickly turned grim when he explained where it was and how they would have to access it.
"Gringotts, Harry! You want me to pretend to be that wretched woman and break into the most secure place in the wizarding world?"
"What choice do we have Hermione?" he replied, and she couldn't come up with a single rebuttal.
They remained at Shell Cottage for nearly a week. Harry had wanted to leave after two days, but Hermione convinced him that it would be beneficial to restock and rest while they had a secure place to do so. They spent their time reading, sleeping, eating, walking on the beach, helping Bill and Fleur around the house, and listening to Potterwatch. It was Potterwatch that gave them the biggest shock they'd had in a while. Someone from the Death Eaters was spying for the Order. Somebody had turned traitor. They were systematically mailing letters full of names, dates, addresses, warnings about upcoming attacks, and other information spelled against anyone with a dark mark to various members of the Order of the Phoenix.
"Do you think it's Malfoy?" Ron asked after the segment had ended. "Malfoy Junior, I mean," he clarified when she and Harry gave him a strange look.
"It could be," Harry said slowly. "I'm not sure who else would have access to that level of information who would even come close to turning. He seems like the only candidate." Hermione nodded, and her mind was pulled back to the question Harry had asked. Do you like Malfoy? She was mercifully distracted when Harry and Ron pulled her into a debate about which Death Eaters were most likely to turn. While it was an interesting discussion, it made her sad.
The war was changing them. Harry and Ron had matured seemingly overnight, and Harry had developed a shocking perceptiveness and tactical awareness. They were 17 and fighting for their lives as fugitives of the law and members of a vigilante organization. It was unbelievable that at that time the year before their biggest daily worry had been homework.
"One more walk before we leave?" Hermione asked when the day of their departure finally arrived. The boys murmured their assent, and the three made their way out onto the shore to walk near the edge of the water. Hermione looked out at the sea as they climbed down the hill. It amazed her just how peaceful this place could be when the magical world was in shambles. She inhaled deeply through her nose, taking in the salty smell in the air. Hermione loved the sea. She always had since she was three when her parents had taken her to the Cliffs of Dover for her birthday. The sea mesmerized her. It was so vibrant and powerful and alive.
"I could stay here forever. It's so calm," she said, voice soft as not to break the hush that had fallen over them.
"But we can't," Harry said mournfully. "At least not yet. He won't let us rest." Hermione was glad that Harry had given up on the notion that he could leave her and Ron behind. THere was a time when he would have tried to convince them to stay while he went at it alone.
"We're really going to try to break into Gringotts tomorrow," Ron muttered. "It's madness."
"It is," Hermione confirmed, "but it's all we've got." When the sun began to set, they turned and set off towards the cottage. All three drew their wands when they spotted movement ahead. It looked to her like someone hovering a stretcher. When they were close enough, Harry called out to the figure.
"Who's there?"
"It is I, Remus John Lupin. I made you the godson to my unborn child a little less than a week ago." Hermione nodded to Harry, as did Ron. Remus had indeed stopped by to see Harry the week before. They lowered their wands and approached Remus. Hermione's knees nearly gave out when she saw what, or rather who, he was levitating.
"Malfoy," Ron whispered in horror. He looked up at Remus. "Is he-?"
"He's alive, but only just," Remus informed them solemnly, never breaking his brisk stride toward the house. "Lestrange," he added in response to the question none of them dared to voice.
"His own aunt," Harry murmured, his voice somewhere between shock and horror. The three strode quickly to keep up with Remus' long-legged pace. Harry and Ron parted from them just inside the door to Shell Cottage to find Bill. Hermione led Remus up the stairs to the room she had just cleaned the few belongings she had out of. Remus levitated Malfoy onto the bed, and she sucked in a sharp breath when she was finally able to see the full scope of his injuries.
"It's bad, isn't it?" she asked, watching the man cast several diagnostics on the unconscious boy on the bed.
"I'm afraid that's quite the understatement," he replied, not so much as glancing away from his work. A parchment appeared in the air. It was, she knew, a list of all that was wrong. "Broken ribs, broken arm, abrasions, bruises, nerve damage, possible concussion and some kind of internal damage." He swore quietly. At that moment, Bill tore through the door, a medical kit clutched in his fists in a white knuckle grip. Harry and Ron stayed in the hall, lingering just outside the door. Bill cast a diagnostic of his own, and he too let out several vivid swears.
"Remus, I need the emergency potions kit out of the bathroom. It's under the sink." Remus was off without hesitation.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"A rib punctured his lung," Bill told her grimly. "Insufficient blood oxygen levels aside, he's bleeding out into his chest cavity, and if we don't stop the bleeding, he could drown in his own blood."
Hermione nodded shakily and began casting monitoring charms. A translucent floating rectangle appeared. Malfoy's vital signs were clearly displayed, and his blood pressure was dropping quickly.
"If we don't do something, he's going to go into shock," she said. Bill only nodded and cast a spell to set the broken ribs. Skele-Gro would have to be administered later. Before she could speak again, Remus returned.
"Hermione, I need to get these potions into him, but we can't move him. If we shift him the wrong way, the rib could move and do more damage."
"Which ones and in what order?" she asked.
"Organ tissue menders then all three blood replenishers." She nodded and flicked her wand. The liquid vanished from the vials Bill was holding one at a time. The men looked surprised.
"It's a spell for comatose patients," she said, looking back over at Malfoy's vitals and his list of ailments. "I shadowed Madam Pompfrey after classes in sixth year." She saw Bill nod in her peripheral. "Remus, can you hand me Skele-Gro, fever reducer, bruise balm, an antiseptic, some dittany, a skin-knitting potion, and a nerve mender please? As loath as I am to say it, I can't give him pain potions with Skele-Gro, so that will have to wait." He handed her what she requested, and she murmured a thanks as he slipped into the hall to speak with Harry. "I can handle this, Bill, if you want to speak to your wife." He nodded his thanks, cast one last look at Malfoy, and silently retreated from the room leaving Hermione alone with the comatose Malfoy heir.
With a flick of her wand, Hermione vanished Malfoy's clothes with the exception of his underwear. She blushed brilliantly when she found herself staring at his bare chest. Do you like Malfoy? Shoving down her mortification, she tried to employ clinical detachment. It didn't work, but she set about healing him anyway. First, she spelled the fever reducer into his stomach and conjured a cool compress to place on his forehead. She then cast a cleaning charm so that she could tell what was bruised from what was dirty. Unfortunately it seemed that he was one big bruise, which wasn't all that surprising considering his fair complexion. With a delicate touch borne of months of practice, Hermione began applying bruise balm.
His chest was marbled with black, blue, and purple bruises. Some of them were shaped in a way that suggested someone had kicked him in the chest, which was most likely what broke his ribs. Hermione shuddered at the brutality of it. He also had severe bruising on his arm where she located a rather nasty break. Flicking her wand, she set the bone before spelling Skele-Gro into him. His ribs would only take twenty minutes to heal, but his arm would take closer to two hours. After tending to the bruises and break, she quickly splinted the arm to avoid further injury.
His face was badly bruised as well. He was sporting a black eye and a handprint which she quickly but gently dealt with. When she'd finished healing the bruises on his front, she moved on to cuts. His legs were mostly free of cuts, but his knees were scraped. She sprayed the scrapes with antiseptic before healing them. She did this with the cuts on his arms and chest as well, adding dittany to prevent scarring. Once again, she stopped when she reached his face. He had a nasty cut on his cheek along with damage to his lip and tongue, which he had clearly bitten through. She healed his cheek normally but she had to use a more complex spell on his mouth. When the last of the damage on his face was healed, Hermione caught herself staring at his lips. Pull yourself together, she admonished mentally.
With another flick of her wand, she spelled the nerve potion into him. It was critical that she staggered the dosing because she was using far more than the recommended number of potions at once, but there was no other option if she wanted him alive and without lasting damage. Removing the cold compress from his forehead, she did what she could for the concussion. The rest would have to heal naturally.
She checked her watch. It had been a half hour since she'd begun to heal his ribs. A quick diagnostic told her that it was safe to turn him over. She levitated him onto his stomach, ready to begin healing his back, but she nearly threw up at the sight that greeted her. The word "traitor" was carved into the pale, delicate flesh of his back just between his shoulder blades. Many other slashes also marred the smooth skin, most likely by the same blade that gave her her scar.
After disinfecting, healing, and applying dittany to each cut, Hermione finished healing his bruises before turning him back over. One flick of her wand cleaned the dried blood off of the blond and another dressed him in lightweight pajamas. She then pulled the blanket up to his chin. With her job done, Hermione collapsed into the chair beside Malfoy's bed and allowed herself to cry.
