"Well, Healer Granger? Am I cleared to return to active duty?"
The cool, drawling voice filtered across to Hermione, pulling her abruptly from her intense focus. Her wand was held loosely in her hand in mid-air — it had been returned to her for the express purpose of healing Draco. Her hand spasmed around the wand for a split second.
She stared at it for a moment as she slowly breathed in and out, willing the spark of rage to subside within her. She could feel her face growing hot. Her skin prickled, itchy and too tight on her body.
Draco had been exhausted and tortured to the point of collapse within the entry hall of his own home. It was unthinkable to her that he should be eager to return to his "duties", as he referred to them; they both knew very well that it was a euphemism for extreme violence.
Hermione whirled in her seat to face Draco, and opened her mouth to let out a vicious retort.
The words died on her tongue as she took in the sight of him staring back at her.
His usually tidy hair was mussed and unkempt, pressed flat to splay at odd, dichotomous angles by sleep. When she had Levitated him onto his back in the entry hall, his face had been a mottled mess of bruises and lacerations. The healing that Hermione had carried out since then had erased all those blemishes away, like waves washing away footprints in the sand.
A ghostly smile hung upon Draco's lips, more genuine and relaxed than she had seen in a long time. They gave a twitch of amusement at her; Hermione was suddenly all too aware that her face was tomato red.
"No. Absolutely not," she managed in a strangled voice, before turning abruptly back to the hastily constructed workstation before her. An apothecary's worth of potions, brews, concoctions, unguents, and other assorted oddities were spread onto Draco's bedside table. Hermione had to Conjure up an entire overflow table to have room for it all.
"Ah," Draco replied in a knowing tone.
They sat in silence for a few seconds as Hermione busied herself with the appearance of work, while praying for her crimson stained cheeks to fade away.
Draco cleared his throat quietly.
"Is that it? Because you looked like you wanted to say something," he added.
"Me? I have nothing to say to you," Hermione retorted back hotly. A little too quickly and more biting than she had intended, but infinitely better than the tirade she had planned on releasing when she had thought he was being serious.
Draco gave a snigger of amusement from next to her, which quickly turned into a hiss of pain.
"Not feeling too hot, are you?" Hermione asked blithely, turning to face Draco. There was an unmistakable smugness in her tone as she observed him scowling slightly, but her expression softened.
"No," he said shortly.
Hermione made a 'hmm' of disapproval, consulting her parchment of notes and then checking her watch.
"It's about time for your next dose of pain relief," she sighed as she made to uncork the bottle. His hand shot out quickly, grabbing her by the wrist. Hermione paused.
"Do you have an issue with the treatment I've prescribed for you, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked dryly. Her gaze trailed from his pale face to stare pointedly at his abdomen: beneath the sterile bedding and layers of gauze, there lay a concerning amount of damage still. Hermione had managed to heal the worst of the worst, but the rest would take time and potions.
"The pain relief makes me—" Draco paused, seeming to search for the words for a moment. "They make me disoriented and drowsy. I'm not myself. I'm not … in control."
"Well, that's the point, you see," Hermione snorted. "They help you sleep and heal, you fidget and thrash too much when you're awake."
Draco's jaw was grit stubbornly as he stared back at her.
"I need to keep my wits about me," he said. "I can't let my guard down and be defensele-"
"Whom exactly are you expecting to be attacked by?" Hermione asked, batting off his hand to continue her previous efforts of uncorking the bottle. She poured out a generous amount into a measured cup, Draco watching her carefully all the while.
"Are you expecting him to come bursting through the door at any moment, strangle you with a roll of bandages?" she asked. Skepticism and derision were heavy in her tone.
Draco frowned.
"Don't be ridiculous," he muttered darkly. "It's not just him I'm worried about."
Hermione raised an eyebrow as she handed the cup of potion to Draco.
"I'm sure your mother has some nefarious plans for you then, Malfoy. This is all a carefully orchestrated plot, to- … to get you to be the responsible heir she always wanted you to be," Hermione scoffed.
A strange expression flashed across Draco's face as he accepted the cup wordlessly, but it was gone the next instant. He stared down at the potion for a moment, then sighed and downed it in a single gulp. His jaw was gritted hard, but his nose let out a tell-tale wrinkle at the bitter taste.
Hermione smiled to herself.
Tough, ruthless High Reeve my ass. What a drama queen.
"See? That wasn't so bad," she said cheerfully, scooping the cup out of his grasp and turning back to her work.
"Stay with me for a bit," he ordered from next to her.
Hermione slid a glance over at Draco, who had sagged back down into bed. His eyes were closed.
There was a beat of silence, before:
"Please," he added quietly.
She smiled to herself and shuffled her stack of parchment, organizing them and beginning to file them away.
"Only because you asked so nicely," she teased. She hummed to herself for a moment, shuffling through the papers.
"You sleep so much and yet you heal so slowly," Hermione remarked offhandedly. "Every time I come in here you seem to be sleeping, your mother is quite worried about you. I did explain about the Blood Ritual, which … well, she wasn't especially happy about it but what's done is d-"
"I'm not sleeping when she's in here," Draco muttered.
Hermione paused mid-shuffle, parchment held loosely in her hands.
"But she said-"
"I know what she said, Granger. I try to stay awake and alert during the day but there's only so many conversations I can have with her before we kill each other," he replied darkly.
Her eyebrows shot up.
"What could possibly be such an issue between you and Narcissa?" Hermione asked, unable to keep the curiousity out of her voice. He had gone to the ends of the earth to save her.
Draco's mouth pressed into a thin line, and he did not respond further.
Hermione tamped down the urge to give him a good jab in the ribs (really, it might cure him of that awful personality), and returned to her work. They lapsed into silence for some time, Hermione falling into such a deep concentration that she was startled when he spoke again.
"How's life in the manor while I've been on vacation?" Draco drawled quietly. His speech had a slightly slurred quality to it, as if he had had a few drinks.
"Mmm."
Life was … strange.
If she had been drifting before Draco's injury and subsequent hospitalization (of sorts), she was now anchored by it. Gone was the melancholy and despair over her friends and all that she had lost. A new-found sense of gratitude over what she had left, what remained in her life, and the fear of losing that too drove her.
It was as if a fog had lifted, if only because she had been plunged into water so cold that all the air had been shocked out of her lungs.
She shook herself out of her pacing internal thoughts.
"Life is festive," Hermione replied lightly. "Narcissa has lost her mind decorating for the Christmas festivities. I'm not sure what she has planned exactly but it looks even grander than Hogwarts at Christmas."
Indeed, the Malfoy estate had been decked to the nines. Massive Christmas trees, twenty feet tall, stood in the foyer, entry hall, library. The elves had strung up garland along the bannisters of the marble staircases, enchanted every light and lamp within the estate to resemble tiny ice shards, and hung tinsel from the ceilings. The decorations did everything to fill up the physical dimensions of the home, but did nothing to chip away at the sterility within. Hermione felt as if she were in a museum of excess and extravagance; of luxury and material goods, with nothing of real substance within.
There was no human quality. No warmth, coziness, or merry like there was at Hogwarts.
A lump had appeared quite suddenly in her throat, catching her off guard. Hogwarts at Christmas. The Christmas Feast in the Great Hall, dozens of rich, buttered turkeys, giant trifles, stacks of fresh dinner rolls. Opening presents in front of the merrily crackling fireplace in the Gryffindor common room.
What had been only a few short years ago now seemed like a whole lifetime ago. A different life.
One that was no longer hers to live.
"But she's preparing for something exciting, I'm sure," Hermione continued on quickly, swiping at the stray tears rolling down her cheeks. "You'll be well enough by Saturday for the Christmas dinner she has planned, as long as you don't exert yourself too much, you should be able to attend. It'll be wonderful to get out of this bed and get some fresh air, move around a bit," Hermione babbled on.
She snuck a glance at Draco; his eyes were closed and he seemed to have dozed off. She let out the shaky breath that she had been holding, finally slowing down. The stack of parchment lay forgotten on the table.
Hermione stared out the frost-covered window, feeling the memories creeping back in.
She wants to cry again for all that she's lost, but the tears won't come anymore — she's simply run out at this point. She must have.
She wants to cry for different reasons, too. How close she thought she had come to losing Draco, when she had found him collapsed onto the floor. The panic and fear that had risen up and gripped her, squeezed her heart so tightly that she thought she might burst.
It was only at the precipice, at the edge of losing it all, that she realized how much he meant to her. How much he had always meant to her. It had snuck in like the summer solstice; days lengthened and stretched, flowers bloomed anew, until Hermione realized with a jolt that she was in a field of verdant greenery, bathed in light and warmth well into the late evening.
A soft, surprised laugh left Hermione. She pulled herself from her thoughts again, giving herself a shake. How bizarre it was that she once viewed Draco as someone emotionless, as untouchable and cold as ice; immovable as granite.
Hermione returned to the parchment, shuffling them one last time, and made to stand.
"Come away with me."
She jerked in alarm, whipping around to stare at Draco.
"What?" Hermione asked in confusion. "I thought you fell asleep."
He was staring back at her; his voice slurred from the effects of the pain medication, but there was a certain lightness and lucidity in his clear-eyed gaze.
"We could run away together," he insisted stubbornly. "Leave all this behind."
Draco's voice was wistful and he trailed off, watching Hermione expectantly. She stared back suspiciously.
"How are you feeling right now, Draco?" she asked in response.
"Good."
"Any … pain?"
"Mmmm … no."
"Any … other sensations?"
"… Floating."
"Ah."
Hermione stared in bemusement, lip twitching. Maybe this was why he had put up such a fight against the pain medication.
"We can't run away together because … well. Our circumstances wouldn't allow it," Hermione said quietly. She sat back down in her seat to face Draco, who blinked owlishly back at her.
"But if you could?" he pressed, eyes growing heavy.
"If I could, I would," she promised, giving his hand a squeeze.
"Hmm."
He continued staring at her, each blink becoming slower and slower, until they stopped and he was asleep again.
Hermione checked once more to make sure he was really asleep, then rose from the seat. She made her way out the door and closed it behind her, with one final glance at the sleeping Draco.
Once outside, she called out for Mippet. The house elf appeared immediately at her side and bowed low. Hermione held out her wand and watched with some regret as Mippet accepted it.
"Miss is done healing?" Mippet inquired.
"Yes, all done for today," Hermione replied cheerfully. She worked hard to keep the hint of bitterness from her voice.
Mippet nodded again eagerly and tucked the wand into her pillowcase dress, then wrung one overly large ear in apprehension.
"Mippet must- … Mippet is to bring Miss to Mistress Narcissa," Mippet said timidly.
The surprise must have shown on Hermione's face, as Mippet hurried on rapidly.
"Mistress has something she must discuss with Miss Hermione is all!" Mippet squeaked. "Nothing more, nothing less."
With a bow so low that Hermione heard the audible squeak of Mippet's nose rubbing against the marble floor (which made Hermione snort with inappropriate laughter), Mippet turned on her heel and gestured for Hermione to follow her. She did so with tense shoulders and trepidation in each step.
As a rule, Hermione avoided Narcissa whenever possible. It was made easier through living in a home so gigantic that it ought to have its own postal code, but she couldn't avoid facing Narcissa to give her regular updates on Draco's health.
In the back of her mind, she cursed his evasive nature. Whatever topics Narcissa discussed with him, and whatever he was being pressured to do, couldn't possibly be so dreadful for him to feign sleep to simply avoid her.
Before long, the ornate double doors of Narcissa's bedroom greeted her once more. Mippet waved nervously and vanished, leaving Hermione by herself.
She took a fortifying breath and knocked at the door.
"Come in," Narcissa called out from within, and Hermione opened the doors to let herself in.
Narcissa sat at a marble table, atop of which lay a large bound tome. She gestured to the seat opposite, and Hermione quickly walked over and sat down.
The sooner this was over with, the better.
Up close, Narcissa looked tired and tense. While the dark under-eye circles and bruises upon her son's face had lessened over the week, they seemed to have been transferred to her instead. The bound tome spread before Narcissa seemed to be a dayplanner, which Hermione realized when she sat down.
"Well? My son?" Narcissa demanded, sitting forward in her chair. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair as tension radiated through every bit of her.
"He's healing as expected," Hermione responded evenly. "No complications."
"He's barely awake! He's been in bed for days, surely you're a more accomplished healer than this," Narcissa hissed. Her nails dug into the fine silk of the armchair, leaving imprints.
"He's healing, as expected," Hermione repeated with a slight edge in her tone. "The permanently reduced healing effects of the Blood Rituals notwithstanding, he's improving every day."
"He's never awake when I visit him. I must speak with my son before the Christmas festivities, and he must be in a state fit to attend."
Narcissa's lips had thinned into a line upon her face, and Hermione could feel herself growing more nervous. She was reminded suddenly of a hawk scoping out its prey.
Fucking Draco.
"I'll make sure he's awake and active by Friday," Hermione promised awkwardly. "You can talk to him and um … pick out dress robes that match his eyes or whatever," she blurted out.
A look of contemptuous disgust crossed Narcissa's face. Likely the only thing that kept the older woman from rolling her eyes was centuries of upper-class etiquette.
"See that you do," Narcissa drawled. She paused for a moment and regarded Hermione once more.
"Is that all?" Hermione asked tensely.
Narcissa pursed her lips.
"And see that you stay confined to your room on the 25th. I shall be hosting a dinner party and accompanying Yuletide gala. I have invited much of pureblood society and I do not need them glimpsing … anything that may spoil their evening. The Notts, the Greengrasses, the Parkinsons … such esteemed, fine families should not be subjected to unpleasantry."
Her cold gaze wandered from Hermione's bushy hair to her gnawed fingernails, leaving no doubt as to what it was exactly that might ruin a pureblood's evening.
"Of course," Hermione replied loftily, with mild derision in her tone. "I wouldn't want to upset their delicate, blood supremacist sensibilities."
Narcissa ignored the jab and continued on.
"My husband will be returning from Europe to join us for the evening, as will my sister and her husband. See that you keep yourself hidden away. I do remember Bella being quite … fond of you."
A sudden chill went through Hermione's spine. She remembered Bellatrix Lestrange.
Bella's hands around her throat, choking her until she saw stars and stars only in her vision, as everything else darkened. Bella's hot, raspy breath in on her neck, her deliriously insane cackle so shrill that it caused ringing in her ears.
"Is that it?" Hermione asked sharply, suddenly more desperate than ever to be out of Narcissa's presence.
"Yes, you may go. See to it that my son is awake and active by Friday at the latest," Narcissa responded coldly.
Hermione gave a sharp jerk of her shoulder in assent, then rose and stumbled quickly out of the room. The door slammed behind her and she was a long distance away, nearly back to her own room, before her hands had stopped shaking.
The Christmases of Hogwarts seemed so long ago, so distant now. She could no longer remember what holiday cheer felt like.