She felt so guilty it hurt. She also felt like an idiot. She should have realised. He could have been killed.
Unlike her, he had to have known he'd be punished for the attack he'd enabled. His hesitation—
He could have prepared. It could have been a trap. He knew exactly which prisons they had information about.
How had he phrased his advice?
“ The response to Order activity will be slightly delayed. If the Order has been waiting for an opening, it may be the edge they're looking for....if the Order were to attack multiple prisons simultaneously, the response will be — less cohesive.”
He'd given them their first massive victory in years. He'd handed it to them, and then paid for it. It was his response that was delayed and less cohesive.
Whatever it was he thought he could get by aiding the Order, he clearly wanted it more than anything.
She moved to the other side of his body and cast a gradual rennervation spell on him. It reduced the grogginess and likelihood of there being a headache when he regained consciousness.
While he was waking up, she began tapping her wand across his other hand and then massaging it. The instant he became conscious, she could feel the tension radiate across his body. He froze instantly.
It had been, she suspected, a tremendous leap of faith for him to let her stun him. Trusting anyone did not come naturally to him. She kept coaxing his fingers into pliance as he turned his head. She could feel his eyes on her but she kept working and didn't look up.
“There's no need,” he said after a few minutes. “I have a session with a healer later today.”
“If it's the same one who has done nothing about your back, I would recommend feeding the idiot to a giant squid,” she said sharply.
He lifted his head and looked back at his shoulders with a pained grimace.
“What did you do?”
“After I siphoned out all the excess magic and venom, I laid a containment enchantment over the runes. I can't reverse them, but hopefully it will keep the Dark Magic contained to the runes rather than sinking into your soul. I've packed them with murtlap and dittany to help ease the pain. I'm assuming you're already taking pain relief potions.” He gave a faint nod. Hermione ran her fingers up and down his hand carefully, feeling the familiar wand calluses along his fingers, seeking out any trace of tremors, and muttering spells under her breath as she bent and massaged them. “Hopefully it will heal the incisions a little faster. There's nothing I can do about the scars, or the ritual curse they contain. I'm sorry — I should have come back sooner. If I had — maybe we could have removed the bones and regrown them before it had settled in. Now, even if I replace them and flense you, the oath will re-emerge...”
“It doesn't matter,” he said, snatching his hand away from her abruptly and getting up. It had to be agonising to move but he didn't make a sound. But he was paler and wavered slightly once he was standing. “As you mentioned, you were rather busy. It doesn't appear that you were off at the seaside sunbathing and willfully neglecting your pet Death Eater. Healing me was never intended to be your job.”
He was apparently feeling a little better, given that his sarcasm had re-emerged.
“I should have come,” she repeated. “It needs to be monitored. And the salve, it should be changed daily for best effect—“
“Unfortunate.”
“I can come,” she said. “It will only take a few minutes. If you can spare the time morning or evening. I'll come.”
He stared at her.
“Really? You have time for that?” he asked snidely.
“I'll make time.”
He seemed to be considering something for several moments. “Fine. Eight o'clock in the evening. If you come I'll show up. If you can't, it's no matter.”
“I'll be here.”
She helped slip his shirt up over his shoulders and buttoned it. She paused halfway up.
“I'm really sorry, Draco,” she said.
He stared down at her and quirked an eyebrow.
“If I'd known a bit of healing was going to make you so familiar with me, I never would have let you do it.”
She looked up at him as she finished buttoning.
“Do you not want me to call you Draco? It just seems rather odd to still go by surnames after so long. Assuming neither of us die in the war and you don't get tired of me, I'm guessing we're going to be around each other for a while.”
He rolled his eyes doubtfully.
“Call me whatever you want, Granger. I'm not changing anything.”
Typical.
She suspected that surnames were just another way to maintain distance. Which was why it had occurred to her that perhaps she should begin referring to him as Draco.
Subconscious distance affected behavior. If she wanted to get closer she had to move first, and she couldn't let her own subconscious attitudes hold her back.
“Any information this week?”
He gave a short nod, the corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “The new curse development division is going to be in Sussex. It's budgeted to be a considerably larger one. They're expanding the laboratories beyond curses. It's a research facility, using prisoners.”
Hermione swallowed. “Of course.”
“Hogwarts is being turned into a prison. It already has enough wards; it will replace all the prisons lost. They're purging it currently of any magic considered uncooperative.”
Something inside Hermione wrenched at the news. When Hogwarts had been abandoned they had tried to take what they could, but the House-elves and portraits had been bound to the school; they left them behind. Her mouth twisted slightly.
“I'm sure the school will fight it,” she said.
“Undoubtedly. The choice was made because the Dark Lord is hopeful the news will enrage Potter. And — it's intended as final insult to Dumbledore.”
Hermione's eyes flickered up to his face and then rapidly away as he said the Headmaster's name. She forced her expression not to change.
“I'll ensure Harry is braced for it and doesn't do anything foolish.”
He gave a short nod.
“I'll see you tomorrow then,” she said and looked him over again. “Take care — Draco. I'm so sorry.”
The corner of his mouth twitched for a moment, then he pressed his mouth into a flat line and his expression tensed; bracing himself before he apparated away.
Chapter End Notes
Draco's runes by bookloverdream.
Flashback 9
June 2002
The next night, Hermione slipped out of Grimmauld Place after dinner, claiming the need for more milk from the market up the street.
When she arrived in the shack, she stood awkwardly, wondering if Draco would appear. She suspected that he wasn't expecting her to make it.
He arrived suddenly with a sharp crack, wincing.
She stared. In the past, he'd always been fully dressed; shirt, robes, and a cloak for good measure. While she'd stripped him to his waist twice, both occasions had been mostly professional and he'd redressed immediately afterward.
He was just wearing trousers and a button down shirt. All in black. The absence of layers emphasised how tall and lithe he was. He seemed like a panther; black, cool, and predatory.
Practically speaking, it was logical and efficient. Fewer layers to remove. Less weight pressing against his injured back. Yet it felt weirdly intimate.
He wandlessly summoned a chair, and straddled it backward while he began unbuttoning his shirt.
He hissed and gasped under his breath as he twisted his shoulders to pull it down.
“Is it hurting any less?” she said, hesitating slightly as she laid a hand on his arm. His skin was still unnaturally cold. Touching him sent a shiver of fear down her spine as he flinched faintly and his muscles rippled beneath her fingers.