39.
Hermione had slept for a while in Malfoy's arms after her tears had dried up, only to be awakened by a frowning, grey-haired Healer scolding him. "You aren't supposed to be in here, let alone in the bed with the patient," the witch said, hands on her hips, as Hermione blinked sleepy eyes at Malfoy, who was glaring daggers at the woman. He was trying carefully to detangle himself from Hermione, edging out from beneath her a millimetre at a time.
"Merlin's sake. Give me a minute," he said in an angry whisper, sliding his arm out from beneath her head. "You'll wake –" and then he saw her open eyes, and his cold, angry expression flitted to softness for a moment, his grey eyes warm and bright. "Shit. Granger. Welcome back, sleepyhead."
Hermione yawned and flung her arm over his middle, trying to pin him on the bed before he could escape. She felt the muscles in his stomach twitch and go taut under her forearm as he froze in the process of getting up. "What's going on?" she asked sleepily, trying to sit up and discovering it was difficult. She felt muzzy and foggy, her head swimming – maybe after-effects of the poison – her body still feeling sore and wrong, particularly her shoulder, knee, and stomach.
"Lie still," Malfoy told her firmly, a note of exasperation in his voice as he gently pushed her back down, onto her back, her head on the pillows.
"But –" She frowned and tried to sit up, but he kept her pinned far too easily, his hand splayed over her chest, and she sighed and gave in. Lying down was fine, she supposed, slightly indignant at how easy it had been for Malfoy to keep her still. "Fine." She rubbed her eyes, then narrowed them on the Healer; the woman looked fed up. "What's going on?"
"The Healer is trying to eject me," Malfoy said, his voice slightly clipped. "She's so concerned about disturbing you, that she's woken you," he added in an acerbic tone, and the Healer sighed heavily, looking impatient.
"If you hadn't put up such a fuss, Mr Malfoy, Ms Granger-Weasley would not have woken," she snapped, with a glare for Malfoy and a tight smile for Hermione. "Her waking is entirely on you."
"I fail to see how I could slip away without waking her," Malfoy said shortly, and Hermione understood why; she'd woken with one leg hooked over his, her hand on his belly, and her head pillowed on his shoulder. There was no way to wriggle out of that embrace without disturbing her. He was up now though, shifting off the bed stiffly with a groan, rolling his neck and rubbing his right shoulder – the one Hermione had been pillowed on. "You need better mattresses," he said in an aside, and the Healer tightened her mouth, unamused. He adjusted the blankets over Hermione, tucking them gently around her, and she clutched onto his wrist.
"Don't go." She looked up at the Healer, trying to pull her groggy head together. "He can stay. I give permission. I don't want him to go."
The witch frowned. "I'm sorry, Ms Granger-Weasley, it's nearly midnight and after visiting hours. We don't allow non-family members in the rooms outside of visiting hours. And certainly not in the beds." She adjusted her spectacles, a wand in one hand, and what seemed to be Hermione's patient notes in the other. A streak of judgement was hard in her eyes as she stared at Malfoy. "Would you like me to owl your husband, Ms Granger-Weasley?" Hermione arched her brow. Oh, it was like that then, was it?
"Not particularly. And I don't think he'd appreciate being dragged away from his girlfriend either," Hermione said tartly, thankful for the Healer-patient privilege that meant she could be blunt. "We're in the process of separating, you see, so while he may be my legal next of kin, he is not who I'd like here with me. And he is fully aware that Mr Malfoy is here with me – not that it's any of your business." The last came out very scathing and the Healer blanched, as if she knew she'd crossed a line.
"I see. My...apologies. But the rules remain the same." The witch didn't seem the type to bend the rules. Hermione tried anyway.
"I understand rules," Hermione said wryly. "And that he can't sleep in the bed. But in light of the situation, what's the difference between him sitting out in the corridor and sitting in here?" She bit her lip and looked at Malfoy uncertainly. "Unless you want to go home? I completely understand if you do." She realised belatedly that he might like the opportunity to shower, change, and sleep in his own bed. Malfoy didn't look like he'd done much of any of that since she'd gone missing, and now he looked even more rumpled and exhausted, the dried blood on his collar brownish in the light. It was Ciaran's, she realised sickly. Hermione wondered if he'd slept at all while she was out like a light, probably drooling on his shoulder.
"No, Granger." He smiled very faintly and peeled her fingers off his wrist, taking her hand in his, his thumb running gently over her knuckles. "I'll stay here tonight. I only just got you back. I'm afraid if I leave you alone, you'll disappear again. If I have to sit outside your door all night, I will." Malfoy didn't look in any fit condition to do that; he looked dead on his feet, pallid and exhausted, his eyes bloodshot and his shoulders slumping. "I'm not going home."
"Malfoy...maybe you should," she said reluctantly, squeezing his fingers in hers, the Healer forgotten for now. "You look almost as bad as I feel."
He huffed a rueful laugh, rubbing at the blonde stubble at his jaw. "Thanks, Granger. That bad, huh?"
"You know what I mean," she told him, frowning. "Have you slept for more than two hours at a time since Monday?"
He tried for a smirk but it was a shadow of his usual expression, the strain around his smoke-grey eyes and the crinkle between his dark blond brows conspiring to make him look old and tired. "That's what Pepper Up potions are for," he said, and the Healer scoffed.
"No, they're really not, Mr Malfoy. And it's hugely unhealthy to use them as an alternative to sleep," the witch said, giving them both a long, hard stare, and then sighing wearily. Hermione held her breath, hopeful; that had sounded like a defeated sigh. "I suppose if you're going to be difficult about it, the pair of you, then you can stay here tonight, Mr Malfoy. But only tonight. You clearly need to be banished for your own good."
Hermione gave the witch her widest smile, relief rolling through her. "Thank you so much, Healer –?"
"Julia," the Healer finished, frowning.
"Thank you, Julia," Hermione gushed, and Malfoy managed a smile – a polite thing that didn't touch his eyes. He looked like he wanted to just curl up on the floor and sleep for a week.
"Yes, much appreciated," he said tiredly instead, rubbing a hand over his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as though his head ached. "I suppose you need to do your Healer thing? Do I need to step out while you...?" Malfoy waved a hand vaguely.
"That might be best, yes." The Healer gave Malfoy a rather more genuine smile, and then Hermione felt a pang of loss as Malfoy's hand slid from hers. He must have seen the distress creeping into her face as he drew away because he quickly stepped back to her, quiet in his bare feet. It was so odd seeing Malfoy basically half-dressed and half-asleep in a public place; he looked worn and defensive, his beard growth foreign. She was used to him being in three piece suits, elegant and well-groomed, and this was wholly different – his private persona out in public. He looked at the Healer and his jaw twitched, and then he seemed to make his decision. He brushed back Hermione's hair and dropped a kiss on her forehead, his lips warm and soft, his stubble prickling.
"I'll just be outside the door, Granger." He straightened, fingers smoothing through the hair at her temples – just for an excuse to touch her, Hermione thought. She was glad of it. She didn't want him to stop.
"Promise?" It sounded silly and childish as she looked up at him pleadingly, but she just didn't feel safe, right now. The world felt off kilter, and fear haunted her, looming over her shoulder like an insubstantial spectre. A shadow passed over Malfoy's face as he took in her fear, recognising it, and he had to clear his throat before he spoke.
"Yeah," he said, a little uneven, emotion making the word rasp. He tightened his jaw and brushed the back of his hand over his eyes, taking a shaky breath. "I promise, Granger." Somehow he made the words sound like I love you. And then the Healer shooed him from the room, and the door clicked shut behind him.
The Healer had performed a number of diagnostic charms as Hermione sat on the edge of the bed in her front-buttoning cotton gown. Her broken knee was still slightly swollen and strapped up in a splint, and she'd been warned to be careful of her dislocated shoulder for a few days lest it pop out again. Her cheekbone had suffered a hairline fracture from Ciaran's backhand, and the Healer checked it and pronounced it nearly healed and just fine. She was told she'd suffered a fair amount of internal damage from the poison, but that she was healing as well as could be expected.
"It'll probably take a few days before you can eat anything other than gentle, bland foods," the Healer said as she jotted down some notes with her quill. "It'll be nutritious broth for breakfast I'm afraid. And it'll likely be a week or two until you feel back to yourself, particularly emotionally. You'll be walking with a limp for a few days, but you'll bounce back soon enough." She smiled reassuringly and withdrew a number of vials from the deep pockets of her pale green robe, all labelled neatly. She set them on the rolling over-bed table in front of Hermione. A row of potions in a variety of colours. "This is for the pain, this is for the itching the Skele-Gro causes, this is for your malnutrition, this is for your digestive system, and this one here, is to prevent this one –" she pointed to the anti-itching potion "– from interacting with this one." The Healer pointed to the blue-violet one she'd said was for malnutrition.
"Do they all taste awful?" Hermione asked with a weak smile, already knowing the answer, and the Healer laughed.
"I'm afraid so. But the best thing to do is wash it down immediately with water," she said, and filled a glass with a tap of her wand, and a large pitcher with another tap. "You need to drink plenty of water now that you're awake. You were dehydrated. And I'll have an orderly bring you a cup of peppermint tea when I'm done here, if you like."
"Yes please. That'd be lovely." Hermione downed her potions one after the other like doing a line of Muggle shots along a bar – and the taste and burn were comparable. She wished they had the same effect, although the pain potion did make her feel immediately a little bit glowy and warm, blunting the sharp edges of her pain and lingering fear. The water didn't do much to wash the bitter taste out of her mouth, and Hermione made a face as the Healer swept the empty vials back into her robe pocket with a cascade of clinking.
"You must need the loo," the Healer said brightly. "Time to try standing." Funnily enough, as soon as the Healer mentioned the toilet, Hermione realised she did need it. Standing hurt. With the Healer's help she levered herself upright and hobbled to the bathroom steadily enough without needing any more assistance, but oh, her knee hurt, and her stomach too. A horrible, deep pain that felt awful. She was sure she'd bounced back from things quicker when she was younger. The hospital room's adjoining bathroom was tiny and utilitarian; a toilet, a basin, and a shower with a seat. And a mirror.
Hermione looked in the mirror before she did anything else, and nearly gave herself a fright with her appearance. Good God; she looked like hell. Pale as milk, her hair a wild mess, her eyes red-rimmed and sunken into dark hollows and dull besides, her lips chapped, and a tremendous greenish-yellow bruise all across the right side of her face. She looked like she'd lost a little more weight just over the past several days, and her uninjured cheek was unappealingly hollow. At least she was clean.
With a sigh Hermione splashed some hot water over her face, gently patting it dry and then using the facilities. She eyed the shower speculatively as she peed; the Healer wouldn't approve of Malfoy using it, but what the witch didn't know couldn't hurt her. And he looked like he needed a shower – not just the basic cleaning of a scourgify , but the hot, wonderful refreshment of a shower. Hermione wished she felt up to taking one right now, but she didn't.
When she had clambered her weary, aching way back onto the hospital bed, true to her word the Healer went and called for Malfoy. It seemed like he'd been waiting leaning against the wall by the door, not even going far enough to sit in one of the clusters of chairs lining the corridors here and there. The Healer stopped him before he could make a beeline for Hermione however, one hand up in front of him at the doorway. "Leave this door wide open, understood? And no climbing in the bed." She held her finger up like a scolding school matron, and Hermione was reminded sharply of Madam Pomfrey.
Malfoy gave the witch a faintly disdainful look. "Are you seriously insinuating that we would engage in any kind of...activity, while she's in that state?" He didn't look in much better a state, honestly. Hermione would frankly be impressed if Malfoy could summon the energy to fuck her; she smiled to herself imagining the exhausted, lacklustre, deliciously intimate sex that might result from any attempts at the moment. The Healer laughed humourlessly.
"You would be astonished at how many times I've walked into a seriously ill or injured patient's room, only to find –" Hermione could see the woman's face in profile as she screwed it up, disgusted "– well, it doesn't pay to think about it. And considering who you are, Mr Malfoy, I hardly think you're likely to be a paragon of morality." Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock as the woman went on: "We both know what you and your side got up to during the war. So –"
"How dare y–" Hermione began in defence of Malfoy, furious, shoving herself up with a wince, but he held up a quelling hand, a resigned, pained expression on his face, and Hermione fell silent. The Healer shot Hermione a distrustful glance, lips thinning.
"As I was going to say, Healers will be checking in frequently. So leave the door open and don't think you can get up to any hanky-panky in this hospital."
"No hanky-panky," Malfoy drawled obediently, his expression undercut with a slightly bitter mirth. "Understood. Thank you, Healer." The witch finally let him past then, and he crossed the room swiftly and leaned over Hermione, running his thumb along her brow, grey eyes ashes and smoke as he searched her face.
"How are you feeling?" He noticed something and smiled, thumb stroking along her left eyebrow. "Merlin. Your pupils are pinpricks, Granger. Did she give you the good stuff?"
"She gave me about seven kinds of stuff, and it all tasted worse than Madam Pomfrey's bruise potion," she said lightly, still annoyed at what the Healer had thrown at Malfoy, and definitely at least slightly affected by the pain potion. She felt more pleasantly muddled the more minutes passed. Malfoy made a face.
"Ergh, I still remember that potion. It was foul." He kissed her forehead. "Poor Granger."
"She's going to send me peppermint tea though." Hermione's hand wavered up to Malfoy's gold-stubbled cheek, as she blinked up at him dazedly, and he caught it and pressed it gently to his face.
"You're all wobbly," he said, concerned and amused at once. "I can't believe that silly bint thought I'd try anything with you." He sounded insulted now, but Hermione snickered. He eyed her cautiously, her hand still pressed to his cheek as he leaned over her, bracing herself with one hand on the bed.
"Hanky-panky," Hermione said, mimicking the breathy, horrified way the Healer had said it, widening her eyes and trying not to smile. Malfoy snorted, probably more at her expense than because of her. That was okay. Hermione grinned. "Except now all I want to do is get up to hanky-panky. She made it sound so interesting."
"Well you can't. You have peppermint tea on the way, remember?" He gave her a tolerant smile and kissed her lightly on the nose before he sat down in the chair at her left side, taking her hand in his two. He rested his chin on his hands, her one tucked cosy in the middle. "Anyway, you're still recovering from an ordeal, Granger. You need rest."
"So do you. When did you last sleep?" She frowned at him when he looked away. "And don't lie."
"I got a few hours on Wednesday," he admitted at last, and Hermione was unsurprised – she wouldn't have been shocked if he'd said he hadn't slept all week. He huffed a laugh to himself. "I think Potter drugged my coffee, actually."
"Well, that was very thoughtful of him," Hermione said pertly, meaning it. It showed a certain level of human care and consideration. She'd have to ask Harry if he actually did. Malfoy kissed her knuckles distractedly.
"So I haven't slept much, no. But I also wasn't held captive for days, and poisoned." He cast worried eyes over her again, as if he still wasn't entirely sure she was really there, and really okay. "I nearly thought I'd gone mad and hallucinated you, when you turned up on Thursday night."
"Merlin, I can't believe it's Friday night," Hermione mused aloud. It both felt like it had only been a day since she was taken, and like a lifetime. Five days, and four long nights. She frowned, trying to think through the pain potion fog. "When did people realise I was missing? I was worried no one would notice until Tuesday at the earliest."
"When you weren't on the lift on Monday. I knew something was wrong then. When you didn't turn up in the lift, and then you weren't at work at all." He huffed a shaky laugh. " You missing work? I knew something had to be wrong, Granger. I sucked it up and went straight to Potter, and badgered him until he went around to your house, Monday lunchtime. And then he came back with your wand, and the bad news, and –" Malfoy covered his face with one hand and took a moment. " Shit. I was so fucking scared."
"Me too," she quipped, and attempted a smile.
"Fuck, Granger. How are you joking about it?" There was no smile on Malfoy's lips, just a terrible fear, and a bone deep relief, his eyes suspiciously wet. He let out a shaky breath, head bowing, and Hermione found herself despising St Mungo's ridiculous rules about beds. Malfoy should be on the bed with her right now; he desperately needed sleep. He needed to be sprawled beside her, with her draped over him. She needed that. Hermione tugged her hand free of his and reached up, grabbing his hair, fingers twining through the unwashed white-blond locks. Manhandling him. He looked at her with a tired curiosity.
"Come here," Hermione said, tugging his head down to pillow against her side and Malfoy went willingly, burying his face against her side with a soft, broken sound, his cheek resting at her waist. She smoothed her fingers through his hair, as he slumped boneless against her, radiating contentment and exhaustion. His arm was snugged around her warm and heavy, his hand splayed gently against her ribcage. It was blissful.
"This definitely isn't something I'd do with my mother," he said into the dip of her waist, and then laughed weakly, a snickering huff, like relief was bubbling out of him. "Merlin, I love you so fucking much."
Hermione smiled through a sheen of tears, fingers stroking through his hair. "I love you too." Immensely.