You are all so lovely! This story now has over 50 reviews and over 50 followers. Thank you so much! Can we hit 60 before Chapter 13?
There's some more of Malfoy showing emotions in this one, which I think you guys will like. I realize it's short, but I really didn't want to add another section; I love the current ending. (Also, shorter=faster, so that's good, right?)
I own nothing you recognize.
Chapter Twelve
"What happened here?" asked Madame Pomfrey as Hermione and Malfoy entered the infirmary. Hermione was once again shocked at how calm she seemed; she had yet to see an injury faze the older witch. She motioned for Malfoy to turn around, which he did, wringing his ruined shirt in his hands. "Tsk tsk tsk… Potions class, I presume?"
"Yes, Madame," replied Hermione guiltily. Her eyes darted to Malfoy's exposed back and she grimaced at the angry red welts she saw forming. "I… I accidently added the ashwinder wings too early, and the potion exploded."
"I keep telling Professor Snape to stick with Potions that don't require such high temperatures, but does he ever listen?" she asked, walking over to a counter full of cotton swaps, lotions, and creams. She began to mix ingredients, holding bottles up to the lamp to check the labels. "So this was a… Love Potion, I would think?"
"Yes Madame."
She nodded and added more ingredients, muttering to herself as she worked. She glanced over her shoulder at the two teens who had not yet moved. "Go ahead and have a seat on that bed, dear. Miss Granger, you can take the bed beside him."
Hermione glanced at Malfoy again, who nodded blankly. She suddenly wanted to get very far away from him. "Oh, I'm not hurt… I should probably return to class."
"I still need to check you over to make sure," replied Madame Pomfrey, using a spoon to dab her remedy onto a cotton swab. "Sit."
Hermione hesitated for a moment but then walked toward Malfoy, who had already taken a seat. She gingerly sat on the edge of one of them and gripped the edges, her eyes downcast. She forced herself to look anywhere but at Malfoy; between his angry eyes and muscled chest, she knew she would regret even a glance.
"This may sting a tad," sad Madame Pomfrey, coming up behind Malfoy. She placed a large beaker onto the table beside the bed, then placed on knee on the bed, holding a wet cotton swab in one hand and resting her free hand on his shoulder to steady him. Malfoy flinched at the contact, causing her to tighten her grip to regain her balance. "Sorry about that dear," she said, noticing the pain that had suddenly flashed across his face. "Just relax, I've got to clean each of these welts."
Hermione's resolve left her as she heard Malfoy's sharp intake of breath at the first touch of the cotton swab. She looked up and leaned forward slightly, wishing she could help, but he was staring at the floor, concentrating completely on a single tile. He clutched the side of the bed, his knuckles white, as Madame Pomfrey cleaned each of his wounds.
"There we go, all done," said Madame Pomfrey ten minutes later, pulling off the gloves she wore and tossing them and the cotton swaps into the nearby trashcan. Malfoy's breathing was labored, and he still stared at the floor. "Lay on your stomach now while I look over Hermione. The stinging should fade in a moment." He nodded swiftly, but didn't move. His entire body was stiff, his muscles clenched. Hermione looked into her lap, ashamed that her ineptness had caused him such pain.
"I'm fine, truly," she said, but Madame Pomfrey simply 'tsked' again and pulled the blue curtain closed around the bed.
"Just take off your robe and blouse, dear, and let me get a look at your back."
Hermione sighed but obliged, turning around and holding her shirt to her chest after pulling it off. She felt the older witch's cold hands brush against her back, examining it, before she declared her to be scratch free. She slipped out from behind the curtain to let Hermione redress.
"How are you feeling Mr. Malfoy," she asked cheerfully. Hermione paused, her robe halfway on, listening closely for his answer. "Has the stinging ceased?"
"Yeah," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. Hermione closed her eyes at his answer, hearing the pain still in his comment. He had protected her and took the full blow himself. "Can we leave now?" Hermione pulled open the curtain, fully dressed once again, and looked to Madame Pomfrey for her answer. She wasn't completely comfortable with the idea of leaving just yet if he was still in pain.
The witch examined Malfoy's back once more, nodding briskly. "Yes, this should heal well. Nothing permanent, although the red welts may not fade for several weeks. However, you will need to apply the cream I prepared to your back once a night for two weeks to prevent scarring." She walked back to the bedside table and picked up the beaker, then poured it into a container at the counter. "You two may leave, but be sure to take it easy for a few days, Mr. Malfoy. No Quidditch. Now wait here while I get you a replacement shirt." She left the room, her long robes brushing the floor as she walked.
"I'm sorry," murmured Hermione, her eyes on her shoes. "I was just… distracted."
"Obviously."
She forced herself to ignore his rude comment, telling herself it was just the pain coming through. They sat in silence for a moment, Hermione replaying the scene in the Potions classroom over in her head. "Why did you… cover me?" she finally asked, mentally hitting herself for her ineloquence. Trust her brain to fail her now.
Before he could respond, Madame Pomfrey swept into the room with a new shirt for Malfoy, and Hermione never could tell if he would have answered her had they not been interrupted.
Hermione and Malfoy stood side by side as Professor Snap leered over them when they returned after Transfiguration. "You two," he began, his voice slow and deliberate, "will serve detention here the next three Friday evenings. You will clean this mess without the use of magic, and you will successfully complete the two potions assigned before leaving for the evening." He glared at them, daring them to argue.
Hermione stayed silent, not daring to cross a teacher and knowing she did deserve the punishment – it was 7th Year Advanced Potions, she shouldn't have made such a juvenile mistake. Malfoy was less reserved.
"But sir," he said, attempting to remain civil, "I have strategy for Quidditch on Fridays."
"Maybe you should have thought of that before making a mess of my classroom," replied Professor Snape coolly.
"Sir, it's your House too…"
"And you've been making a fool of it in your recent behavior. I would expect more out of a Malfoy. Get to work, and report here on Friday at 6pm sharp."
Malfoy waited for Professor Snape to retreat into his office before banging his fist on the desk. "He can't do this to me. This is my seventh year, I'm the bloody captain, of his own House! He can't do this."
Hermione ignored the fuming blonde, instead walking to the sink and wetting a cloth. She had dealt with enough of Ron's temper tantrums in the past to know to just leave him be.
"We're gonna bloody lose to the Gryffindors. Potter and the Weasels." He snorted in disgust.
"Shut it, Malfoy," said Hermione, looking up from the desk she had begun to wipe down. "Those are my friends. Don't talk about them like that."
"It's your bloody fault we're here in the first place! If you could complete a simple potion correctly-"
"I was tired!"
"Boo-hoo. Get over it, Granger. Stop letting your petty problems interfere with my life."
"Petty problems?" She dropped her cloth on the table she was working on and walked up to Malfoy, who hadn't moved since hitting the desk, and whose hands were still clenched by his sides. Her hair framed her face in a wild mess. "Petty? Oh, well of course they're nothing compared to yours. You have to worry about your slave House Elfs getting you your meal on time, the horror!"
"Shut your mouth," said Malfoy, stepping dangerously close. His breath was hot against her forehead, and she closed her eyes for a moment at the closeness. She suddenly wished she wore heels so she wouldn't feel so small beside him.
An instant later she pulled away, but he grabbed her wrist and held her in place. His nails dug into her pale skin. "I've been through things," he began, his face still looming in front of hers, "you could never imagine. I don't care what stupid little adventures you went on with Potter and Weasel." He tightened his grip on her and she flinched. "You've never been Crucioed so many times you couldn't see straight. You've never been forced to protect your little sister from the most powerful Dark wizard on Earth. You've never been forced to watch your parents die. You've never been forced to murder someone."
Hermione froze at his words. She stopped struggling and her face softened; his eyes showed pain she had rarely seen in them before. Before she realized what she was doing, she murmured his name. "Draco…"
His eyes closed, and for a moment Hermione thought he would let down his guard, but in the next instant he had pulled away. When he opened his eyes they were emotionless again.