9. Witches Get Stitches
Draco didn't know what God it was that granted them safe passage back to The Burrow, but he would pray to them for the rest of his life.
He sat awkwardly, on a course woolen blanket, no doubtfully hand knitted, that covered an ancient and sagging armchair in the corner of the living room. Everyone sat silently, except Mundungus Fletcher who whispered inaudibly to his satchel somewhere in the far corner.
Poor bugger had lost it.
Though Mrs Weasley hadn't been overjoyed at Draco's bloody and gory appearence through the fireplace she said nothing, and kept her comments to herself. George's vouch for him seemed to be enough for her to be appeased. Still - he felt like a fish in a bird nest.
Hermione sat cradling the baby on the left side of the sofa, next to George who had drifted off into a restless snooze. Her watery eyes were open wide and stared into nothing, though she winced every now and then when the baby shifted against her gashes.
The strange clock in the corner ticked slowly, echoing loudly in the silence. It reminded him of the drip in his cell. He twitched, needing to break the quiet spell.
Draco cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Granger, Your scratches.." he directed towards Hermione, and she turned to face him abruptly like she had woken from a day dream. "They need stitches, they are quite deep."
She tried to gulp but her throat was dry,
"There's essence of Dittany.."
"It won't work Mione." George interrupted, rubbing his eyes. He looked at her sadly.
"Nothing magical works on them, or on the injuries they inflict. It's the muggle way I'm afraid."
Draco nodded. Though technically speaking he hadn't thought of it as the muggle way, to Draco it was what the Death Eater's did in battle when they were caught in a dark magic crossfire. Most magical remedies didn't help injuries inflicted through the black arts. Another reason he was certain this epidemic was started by black magic.
Hermione nodded sadly. She passed the baby to George, who took him and held him like it was second nature.
"Come along then Malfoy." she said, standing up. "Best to get it over with."
Draco hadn't actually meant that he would do them, surely she would rather anyone else in the room. Especially after the fiasco with her jumper in the ministry toilets.
Sensing his hesitation she sighed.
"Have you done this before?" she asked.
"Yes" he answered truthfully.
"During the war? Perhaps in Azkaban?"
Draco nodded.
"I thought as much." she said, but Draco noted that it was not said condescendingly and was without judgment. She was simply deducing fact.
"Then I suppose that makes you the most qualified doesn't it." She finished simply.
No one else spoke. They couldn't argue. And even if they could, was it ever worth arguing with Hermione Granger? Draco had watched her tear most of the teachers a new one - he could imagine they were all probably a little bit scared of her.
"Ginny, can we borrow your room please. I don't really fancy everyone gawking at me." Her face was pale, and her voice was small but level. She looked down at her jumper and winced. "And maybe some clothes."
"Of course Mione, I'll come with you," the redhead made to get up when Hermione put her arm out to stop her.
"No Gin, you all need to stay here and make a plan. We can't wait around."
Ginny went to protest but George and Draco locked eyes. She was right. There was no time for waiting around, and by the glint in George's eyes Draco assumed he must have some ideas.
"Granger is right." Draco said from behind her. She turned to look at him but said nothing.
"We need supplies, a plan. There are probably millions of those things waking up all over the country right now. We need a plan of action."
Draco looked around the room into the fearful faces of those around him. Mrs Weasley looked sick, George looked exhausted, Ginny looked like she was ready to tear the head off of a bear, Mr Weasley was frantically sifting though a cupboard and Mundungus Flecture was sniffing his rancid satchel in his private mental corner.
Were all going to die thought Draco.
Then he looked at Hermione. She looked tired, sick, emotionally exhausted but there was still something in among all the broken. There was a spark there. Draco had to admit, in all the meetings with the Death Eaters Hermione was mocked, labeled the cock sucking mudbood but they all knew the truth. Not only was Hermione the brains behind the golden Trio, she was also the glue.
"Ah-ha!" Mr Weasley cried from the kitchen, crawling out from under the kitchen sink.
"I knew I had it in here somewhere!"
In his hands was a dusty old bottle of Firewhiskey, he wiped it with his cloak and laughed awkwardly.
"Only gets stronger with age I suppose! Ha! Here!" He held it out to Hermione. His face turned somber.
"It's to dull the pain dear," he said pushing it towards her.
She looked at it and shook her head. "No, I don't need it. I can't afford to be dulling my senses or passing out, or unable to watch the baby..."
"Dear," Mrs Weasley said coming and taking her hands. "We will watch the baby, please stop worrying. Right now we are safe, dear."
Hermione looked into Draco's eyes.
"We are not safe Mrs Weasley. .." she turned back to Mrs Weasley "I don't know if we ever will be again...and the baby...he's mine to take care of. He's my responsibility. I can't...I won't let him down."
Small pinpricks of tears began to form in the corners of her eyes, but she composed herself, and about turned up the crooked staircase without a second glance back.
Gently, Draco took the Firewhiskey from Mr Weasley's hands. He looked at Draco and they nodded at each other. These are not the people Draco would have picked, and he knew for sure they would not pick him, but here they all were. And if Azkaban had taught him anything - it was you couldn;t choose who you shared a cell with.
"You be careful with her." Mr Weasley said, his eyes baring into Draco's. "You leave that door open, Molly will be listening from the corridor."
He could understand why they didn't trust him. They shouldn't. He would leave them and run in a heartbeat if he had to, and he was sure they would do the same to him. No hard feelings - survival first and always. It was a lesson he had learned young, and one that he lived by.
Mrs Weasley awkwardly handed him a sewing basket and a rusting first aid box. Draco stared at them for a second before turning up the stairs.
Hermione stood in front of a floor length mirror, her hands holding the hem of her looked his reflection. She regarded him as though he was a dog who could bite at any second. But she did not let her wariness reach her voice. True Gryffindor.
"I'm scared to look..." she swallowed, staring at him. "How bad is it?"
She knew he wouldn't mince his words, which was probably why she'd asked him first.
"It's not pretty Granger."
He didn't really know what else to say. Would they scar? Yes. Where they big? Yes. Would the sticthes he was about to put in them make them look even worse? Most likley. In fact, concidering how grotesque they had looked he was suprised she wasn't making for of a fuss. At first he thought it might have been shock, but the pain should of set in by now. She was remarkably composed.
Hermione went to lift her jumper and abruptly stopped. Draco went to turn away to give her some privacy but she spoke,
"You'll see them in a minute anyway - it's not that." She took a deep breath, "The blood has dried onto the jumper." She gave a slight tug again and her face began to turn green. She sat down on the bed and took a deep breath.
Draco moved a foot towards her and the floor board creaked, she jumped and stared at him and he paused.
Making women uncomfortable was not his thing. He desperatly wished that someone else would take his place, however - there was a benifit in making himself look useful in a group that otherwise didn't want him.
"Do you want me to do this or not Granger?" he asked flatly.
"Not really." she replied honestly. "But I think your the only one who can do it properly without getting upset about it." She gazed out the window. "I don't need the others to think of me as some wounded little girl. I don't need them to baby me."
Spurred on by her own words she took a deep breath and ripped the jumper up. She stiffeld a yelp.
Even Draco gritted his teeth.
The ragged cuts were inflamed, dried blood and jumper fluff stuck to flaps of skin and weeping sores. He took the firewhiskey and took a hard swig.
Hermione was shaking from had to toe, but she didn't cry or complain. Her lips were cracked as she pinched them tightly.
"This is going to hurt Granger." Draco said
"I'm not an idiot Malfoy." she replied.
He shrugged and then finding the biggest needle from the tin he bent it against the door frame into a hook shape. Hermione silently cast the scourgify spell on the needle, burning his fingers and nearly made him drop it. He glared at her and swore she almost smirked. He poured some firewhiskey on it for good measure.
He also poured some onto a rag from the first aid box and handed it to Hermione.
"Scrub well Granger, it will be a miracle if it's not already infected."
Bravely, she took it, and with all the vigor she could muster ran it roughly over her wounds. Her bravado dissapeared. She hunched over, squeezing her eyes shut - but still she did not scream or cry. Draco was reluctantly impressed. That would have hurt like an absolute bitch. Still...
"Get a grip, Granger. No one is expecting you to do this without making a noise."
She stared at him, her eyes watery and calculating. He sighed, and cast a silencing spell over the room.
"I promise. I won't tell anyone if you cry."
"Why?" she asked.
"Why what Granger?"
"Why would you give me an extra kindness. I know you are helping me purely out of self preservation - why go beyond the minimal.?"
They both stared at each other. Draco didn't quite know how to respond. He was fine with people assuming he was so cold and selfish that even a small act of kindness would cause alarm. That's how he had lived his life - that's how he wanted them to think. But he couldn't help but admit that she was right - there was a reason. Knowing she was going to wait for an answer.
"I'll tell you Granger, but you don't comment and you never mention this again, understood."
She nodded, her brown curls bouncing around her blotchy face.
"No one needs to wallow in your screaming Granger - I know first hand what that is like."
He looked at her bang on in the eyes, not sure what he was searching for. Confusion, forgiveness maybe - but he got neither. instead she stared at him skeptically. But she kept her word and didn't comment. Instead she held out the rag to him.
"Would you help me please, I can't bring myself to do it."
Draco nodded and took it from her, and instead held out the bottle of Firewhiskey to her.
She began to protest -
"If anything happens I'll need to have my wits, I need to watch him..."
"Nothing is going to happen Granger." Draco cut her off. "To you or the baby."
He pushed the bottle into her hands.
"I can't stitch you up of you won't stay still. It will help you relax. You'll thank me later."
Unsurprisingly she pushed it back.
"Just get on with it Malfoy."
Bloody stubborn woman.
She lifted up her jumper. Without another word Draco began to scrub. His large hands squeezed the rag into the open wounds, over her bloody stomach and the bottom of her rib cage. She caught his hand in hers.
"Wait, no, stop." she gasped in pain.
Quickly she let go.
"Sorry - it's a reflex. Just do what you've got to do."
His stormy eyes looked into her glossy brown. He took her hand back and gave it a quick squeeze. Feeling stupid inappropriate he let go just as quick.
"Man up, Granger. It's got to be done." he said, and she nodded and screwed her eyes shut.
"Okay, go..." she commanded.
He had to give her credit, for the first few minutes she really held it together - but pretty soon whimpers grew to cries and cries turned into screams. When it was time to actually start stitching she was already near breaking point.
Draco was sweating. He couldn't go on like this, he was fighting her to stay still and it was twice the work.
"Granger, just drink the bloody firewhiskey."
Without making eye contact she held out her hand, when he put it in her hand she gave five massive gulps and coughed - wincing at the movement from her torso. She then had another five, downing half the bottle in less then a minute.
She thrust it back to him, and Draco took his own swig. She laughed.
"Look at Malfoy, taking a drink from the same bottle as a Mudblood." her teary eyes were glazed and Draco knew it was the drink talking (Firewhiskey was notouriously fast working).
"Already covered in your blood Granger, what's a little spit?" he avoided looking at her face. Draco was feeling more and more uncomfortable. Why him?
"You'll need to take your jumper off Granger, and lie down. I can't stitch if you can't hold your jumper up, and you need to lie flat."
He caught her mumbling under her breath - something about getting a girl drunk and taking advantage of her - but she still did as she was told. Draco awkwardly helped her peel off the jumper, until she was laying on Ginny's bed in nothing but her leggings and a pink bra. He kept his eyes adverted the whole time. Looking at drunk, undressed girls injured on beds was for a different kind of monster.
"Malfoy - what ever happens just do it. Even if I say stop - just get it done."
Draco didn't reply as he threaded his homemade hood with the thickest black yarn he could find in the tin.
Draco had to stitch deep. She screamed out. Draco didn't know how long it took - it felt like eternity. He imagined for Hermione it felt even longer. By now she had drank nearly the whole bottle of firewhiskey, and she had slipped further and further away. By the time he was done Draco was sweating, he sat back and looked at his work. It was hideous. Expressionless he poured the last of the Firewhiskey over it before wrapping it in gauze and bandages. By now Hermione had all but passed out, she lay on the bed her eyelids half open.
Draco wiped his hands on his suit trousers.
"It's done."
He got up to go and to let her rest but paused when he realised she was trying to say something. He could go, he didn't need to stay for idle chit chat. But he still found himself kneeling by her bedside. She whispered again and Draco put his head closer to.
"Thank you.." she breathed out, half asleep... "You didn't have to..."
She closed her eyes.
"You're still a Ferret though..."
He lifted the sheet over her. He tried to hide his smirk.
"They are all dead, Draco.." she said in quiet breathes. "so many bodies... so many..."
While she mumbled Draco gently dressed her hand. The knuckles were split and cracked. Granger had punched something. Interesting.
Mrs Weasley, as promised was waiting on an old rocking chair in the corridor, knitting nervously. As soon as Draco emerged she shuffled into see Hermione, while he descended the stairs ready to plan another war.