A/N: Just a small warning, there is reference to self-harm in this chapter - please keep yourself safe.
Hermione was fraught with frustration and worry: "Draco, you need to get cleaned up and checked over." Hermione sighed. "You're really beaten up, your nose looks broken – and it looks like you've damaged your ribs."
"I won't go." Draco repeated, Hermione stared rather forlornly at him; there was a bloody bruise rising above his left eye.
"You can't just go back to your dorm like this; I'm not going to let you." Hermione argued. "Either you go to the hospital wing and get checked over by Madam Pomfrey, or you let me sort your nose out." She crossed her arms across her chest and fixed her face in a more determined manner, not willing to back down; for a few seconds it looked as though Draco was about to argue, then he seemed to deflate.
"Fine." He murmured, "You fix it then." Hermione blinked, she hadn't actually expected him to say that.
"Right, well… I… uh…" She floundered at what to do next. "Well I'll need to… The Room of Requirement, you can get cleaned up there; come on." Draco walked beside her rather gingerly, indicating most likely that his ribs were broken. The headmistress' office being located on the seventh floor meant that their trip to the Room of Requirement was only through three corridors.
When the doors of the Room of Requirement opened; it had done its job well – it presented itself as a rather spacey room with white walls and white lights shining down, a basin and several rows of cloths and bandages laid out in several rows on a table. Draco had gratefully sunk onto the edge of a chair that was next to the basin, he groaned as he did so, his hand returning to his side; Hermione frowned as she watched him, once again feeling like she had possibly made a mistake by allowing Draco to come with her rather than go to the person he really should go to – Madam Pomfrey.
"Be honest Draco," Hermione said to him, "How much pain are you in?" Draco paused, initially looking as though he was about to lie, but he appeared to change his mind, while under the gaze of Hermione. He had half opened his mouth to speak before closing it again, and then murmured:
"A lot." He hadn't moved his position but he looked down at the floor once more.
"Oh god Draco – you really should go to the hospital wing…" Hermione reinforced, "I can fix your nose, but I don't know if I can do anything for your ribs, or give you anything for your pain…"
"I can sort my ribs." Draco insisted, "And I'm pretty sure that there'll be something for pain in there." He pointed to a set of cupboards on the other side of the room from him; with the indication, Hermione opened the cupboard to find several bottles, including skele-gro and several potions to numb or deaden pain.
"Do you want this now?" She asked, selecting one of the bottles and holding it out towards Draco. He accepted the bottle from her, uncorked the bottle, but instead of measuring out an amount he simply took a drink straight from the bottle.
"Thanks," He responded, placing the bottle down once more. "If you give it a moment then you can fix my nose."
"What happened Draco?" Hermione asked, as Draco had leant back in his chair and closed his eyes; Hermione could see his chest rising and falling rather shallowly. "Did they just jump on you or something?"
"Pretty much… Urgh…" He answered; he had shifted in his chair and made a face at the same time, "I was coming out of the library and then they were behind me, I don't even know…" Hermione had just noted the presence of the book 'A Guide to Healing Minor Injuries' lying upon one of the counters, she picked it up and flicked through the pages. "Do you want to fix my nose now?" Draco asked.
"If you want me to." Hermione responded, laying the book down on one of the counters, open on a page to lessen bruising.
"Go on," He kept his eyes closed as Hermione took out her wand and focussed it into his face.
"It might sting a bit, just to warn you." She said.
"I know." He nodded slightly; Hermione looked at him, covered in blood and waiting patiently for her to fix his nose.
"Episky!" There was a bone crunching crack, and Draco's eyes had snapped back open as his nose began to bleed all over again.
"Oh God," Draco stemmed the new flow of blood with the cuff of his sleeve. "Well at least it's not broken now." His skin was slightly tinged with a grey colour, possibly as a result of his body going into shock; Hermione grabbed some tissues and passed them across to him, preventing him from needing to use his sleeve – which fresh red blood was blossoming up.
"I can try and sort that bruise above your eye if you'd like." She offered, watching him mop at the blood that had dripped down onto his lap.
"Why not – give it a go." He suggested, he didn't seem to really mind; holding the book in one hand and her wand in the other, she read the small section about getting rid of bruises. Once she was done, the lump had gone down above his eye, even though there was still a little bit of blue colour, it looked much better now. Looking down at the blood smeared face, she felt a pang inside her chest, Draco was in such a state, but he didn't even seem to care…
"Shall I clean up your face?" She offered, Draco shrugged in response. Hermione picked up one of the cloths from the counter and dampened it in the basin. "Will you tell me if I hurt you?"
"I will." He muttered; very gently Hermione put one of her hands underneath his chin and began to wipe away all the blood that had dried on his face. She worked in silence for a few moments; Draco was just watching her – closing his eyes shortly thereafter, as she tried to clean the blood from his cheeks and the areas around his eyes.
"How are you not angry about what has happened?" She asked after quite a period of silence; she couldn't help but ask him – she was fuming about the whole situation, about catching those boys really laying into Draco, she couldn't understand how he could be sitting there so calmly, and not be angry or upset about it.
"What do I have to be upset about?" Draco replied, sounding momentarily confused.
"About them beating you up!" She exclaimed, stopping wiping his face. "Why aren't you angry with them?"
"I kind of deserved it though…" He said quietly.
"How?" She shook her head disbelievingly. "You didn't provoke them, or do anything to them – so how did you deserve it?!"
"I'm a Malfoy. I was a Death Eater. I deserve everything I get." He responded very quietly.
"No!" Hermione almost stamped her foot in exasperation. "How many times do I need to say this?! The War is over! It is not right for us to continue holding these prejudices – and anyone who continues to act upon them needs to be corrected. None of us are perfectly without fault in this situation, but that doesn't mean what they did was justified or that you deserved it!"
"Mmm…" Draco didn't appear to agree; Hermione's fingers were trembling as she held the cloth she was using to clean his face, she had to take a few seconds to try and calm herself down before she continued to dip the cloth back into the water. She had just begun to wipe the blood away from around his nose when he looked up, directly into her eyes. "Why are you so angry about this?" He questioned.
"Because you don't deserve this! This is wrong!" She answered, "I am so angry that those boys felt the need and believed they had the right to retribution; I'm annoyed that people can't seem to understand – after being explicitly and repeatedly told that these kinds of prejudices will not be tolerated! I'm also angry on your behalf! Look at the state they left you in! I can't believe their brazenness!"
"You don't need to be angry on my behalf." He said slowly, "I'm not angry, I've done wrong and they've done wrong – none of us are in the right!"
"I – but…" Hermione struggled again, looking down into Draco's face. "I feel your pain though, and you shouldn't be forced into feeling it." Draco shrugged slightly, wincing again at the pain in his chest, and resumed staring at his lap all over again. Hermione was not sure what else she could say to make or insight Draco to respond to what had happened, so she said nothing and continued to clean the very last of the blood from his face. Finishing cleaning his face, she knelt down and took hold of his hands, beginning to wipe them down; during this time he leant his head back on the wall – she could see his ribcage rising only a small amount when he breathed and there was a subtle wheeze when he inhaled. She redampened the cloth and cleaned off the back of his hands before turning them over so she could access his palms. Hermione wondered – because of the silence whether Draco had fallen asleep – and how he was possibly able to do so after all that had happened. His hands were cold, his fingers felt more like blocks of ice rather than appendages attached onto the rest of his body; she was working very slowly, taking great care and time to be gentle and not cause him any more pain. Draco's breathing had slowed down, still slightly wheezy, but deeper; his left hand, which was the one he had been predominantly using to stop the bleeding, was covered in a layer of dark blood extending up the palm of his hand and run up his wrist. There seemed to be rather a lot of blood around his wrist, more than Hermione would have expected. Carefully and gently, Hermione began to unbutton the cuff of his sleeve so as to access his wrist without much fiddling in and around the sleeve, cleaning his skin as she progressed. As she rolled up his sleeve just passed the wrist, near his forearm and put the cloth to this section of skin, Draco's eyes very suddenly snapped open and he pulled his arm away very forcibly, exclaiming:
"What the hell are you doing?!" Hermione's hand, which was still holding the cloth she had been using to clean his hands with, was still outstretched.
"I was cleaning the blood from your hands." She replied, feeling slightly confused about this reaction from him. "Did I hurt you?"
"No." Draco was holding onto his left arm very protectively, his eyes wide and staring at her.
"Did they hurt your arm during the attack?" She inquired even further because of the protective nature in which he was clenching his arm.
"No!" He responded firmly once again.
"Okay." She withdrew the hand that she had been using, but stayed kneeling for a few seconds before standing up and dropping the cloth back into the basin. "I'm sorry." There was a rather awkward silence between the two of them; as Draco remained with his left arm held close to his chest. "Do you need any help with fixing your ribs?" She asked, trying to divert from the awkwardness of the moment.
"I think I'll be alright; the painkillers have kicked in now so I'll sort them out later." Draco answered, he moved to roll down the sleeve of his shirt, and in so doing Hermione got an unimpeded view of his arm. There were several red cuts visible against the very pale skin of his inner forearm.
"Draco!" Hermione exclaimed, he jumped very suddenly as she did so. "What have you done?" Draco roughly tugged his sleeve down over his arm, covering up those marks that Hermione had noticed; he looked very much like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
"Nothing!" He replied far too quickly for Hermione to be comfortable with; she had taken two steps towards Draco again – without any prior warning she reached out and grabbed Draco's arm and pulled it out. She could hear Draco's short, sharp breathing as she was holding his wrist, and he shook his head shortly. "Don't…" He begged, his eyes wide. "Please…" Hermione looked into Draco's face, fearful – terrified even; then took hold of the cuff of Draco's sleeve and rolled it back to his elbow. As she did this, she uncovered the forearm which had previously been so darkly branded with the Dark Mark. Draco had clamped his eyes so tightly shut, screwing up his face in the process. His left forearm was littered with at least fifty or sixty straight incisions – ranging from deep to shallow, long and short, lengthways and vertical – but all predominantly covering the area over where the Dark Mark was. There were further marks also: raised marks, whiter than the normal paleness of his skin; dark brown lines where old cuts were healing; incisions that were remarkably fresh. They enumerated his arm: cicatrices over cicatrices, and clearly displaying his brokenness.
A/N: I'm sorry for taking so long to update this - I'm working full time at the moment and I haven't had much time to write, but I'd love to know what you think of this chapter/story so far! :)