She would have almost thought she was getting decent, but Malfoy never used his left hand. She wondered how he dueled when he was really trying.
He arrived with noticeable injuries sometimes but coldly refused to let her heal him.
The amount of time they spent together grew longer and longer. Dueling practice developed breaks every half hour to cool down and rehydrate. Hermione tried to talk to him, but he mostly ignored her, and when he did answer her questions, he seemed to lie.
Occasionally Hermione got called away abruptly following a skirmish, but Death Eaters weren't prone toward early morning attacks.
The tension of the war felt endlessly strung out, as though the fragile balance would snap at any moment. The tension between Hermione and Draco felt similar.
By December she felt as though the very air between them vibrated when they were together. Angry. Resentful. Desperate.
There was an edge developing to him; as though he were eroding slightly from stress. She wasn't sure whether it was simply the stress of war or if she were contributing to it.
He arrived one day looking pale, with blood dripping from his left hand. He'd nearly bitten her head off the last time she tried to heal him, so Hermione attempted to ignore it. When it failed to stop bleeding after half an hour, she finally spun around him as she dodged a hex and cast a diagnostic charm on him. She stared at it for less than a second.
“You idiot!” She was forced to retreat across the floor and throw herself into a somersault in order to avoid the angry, rapid succession of stunners he sent after her. “You can't ignore vampire bites.”
She shot half a dozen tripping jinxes at his feet and while he was avoiding them, she whipped her wand up and managed to catch him in the forehead with a stunner.
He dropped and she stared in astonishment, half expecting him to suddenly sit up. She was shocked she had actually managed to strike him. Then it occurred to her that the success probably had more to do with his blood loss than her dueling talents. She hurriedly cast another diagnostic on him.
He had lost a concerning amount of blood. He had been bitten somewhere on his upper arm, had internal bleeding and an open wound on his side.
She conjured a bed and levitated him onto it. She only hesitated for a moment before she sat down on the edge beside him. Even unconscious, Draco looked tense. She reached out tentatively and touched his cheek. Then she brushed her fingertip between his eyes, trying to banish the stress from his expression.
She cast a spell to unbutton his robes and shirt and then, with a practiced partial-levitation charm, she pulled him up so that he was leaning against her and pushed all the clothing down off his shoulders and arms. His head dropped against her shoulder, and she couldn't help but notice the scarring from the runes. They had set well into silver scars across his shoulders. She ran her fingers lightly over them and felt the magic; cold and implacable. Carved into his being. The magic shivered faintly under her touch.
His skin was worryingly cool.
She eased him back down onto the bed and looked him over. He'd gotten bitten on his bicep, two deep punctures which were easily healed. The more serious issue was his torso which was mottled with deep bruising which Hermione suspected were from a close range Expulso hex, possibly from a skirmish with the Order that had occurred the night before. He had a gash on his side that looked to be several days old but had started bleeding again due to the vampire bite.
She summoned her satchel and pulled out her kit. She poured several potions down his throat and then set to repairing the injury in his side.
He was an idiot, and she felt cold with worry to realise he wasn't getting his injuries attended to. In the past he'd been in excellent physical condition when she'd healed him.
He had numerous scars on his arms and torso that hadn't been there before. She could tell by studying them that he had just ignored them and left them to heal on their own rather than going to a healer.
Perhaps he'd fired his previous healer after they had offered no relief for the runes. Even if the magic was obscure, no qualified healer could have been so ignorant as to pretend there were no options unless they'd been willfully negligent.
He'd said he had a new healer. Whenever she'd offered to heal him he'd insisted he had someone who would take care of it.
He was being intentionally careless.
Perhaps he was doing it to punish himself. If she was making him waver from his — atonement, or whatever it was. Hermione bit her lip. Perhaps he was intentionally neglecting his physical well-being in order to focus himself. Or — possibly, he was trying to test his limits.
She tried to not to dwell on that possibility.
She pulled out a bruise paste and spread it across his torso and then muttered charms over all his scars to help them heal and fade somewhat.
She cast another diagnostic and studied it carefully to make sure she hadn't overlooked any injuries.
Once she was sure there was nothing else to tend to she took his hand, entwined her fingers with his and then pressed the back of his hand against her cheek. Waiting as his skin slowly started to warm as the blood replenishing potion took affect.
She brushed his hair off his face and stared at him, tracing along his features with her eyes and watching colour slowly come back.
When he was undeniably warm she withdrew her hands away and cast cleaning charms on his clothing and redressed him. His robes had a taint of Dark Magic in them, as though it had become woven into the fabric.
She wavered over whether she should stay where she was or go across the room before rennervating him.
She stayed.
She'd barely finished speaking the spell before he sprang up, grabbed her by the throat, and slammed her down onto the mattress before she could even scream with surprise. His hand stayed on her neck, and she could feel several of her hairpins stabbing into her skull as he pinned her down. His eyes were disoriented, but his expression was enraged. Their faces were mere centimeters apart.
She watched his expression ripple as he recognized her and realised he was on the verge of strangling her. His hold immediately loosened.
“What the fuck, Granger?” He glanced around them and looked more confused as he realised they were in a bed together.
She stared up at him, her heart pounding. It hadn't even occurred to her that he might attack her like that. “You were hurt.”
He jerked his hand away from her neck and his expression grew furious. “I nearly killed you. You meddling—“
She interrupted him. “It's possible you are somehow unaware, despite the fact that I have specifically told you, but vampire venom is an anticoagulant. You had some minor internal damage from the skirmish last night. You were bleeding to death inside and out.”
“I would have had it taken care of in due time,” he said, but his eyes didn't meet hers; they were lower, on her neck. His hand slid forward and she felt his thumb brush along her throat.
She shivered faintly and felt her skin prickle as his fingers ran along her neck. “Really? Just who was going to heal you? Because I must say, based on all the new scars littering your body, I think that the new healer you keep mentioning is a fraud.”
His hand stilled. “You removed my clothes?”
“Just your shirt. Don't look so astonished, I'm a healer, Draco. It's not as though it's the first time I've seen you shirtless.”
His eyes flashed with rage. “Do not heal me without permission.” His voice was a low growl.
His fury was overt, but the intimidation of it was ruined by the fact he was simultaneously turning her head gently, checking to see if he'd bruised her at all.
Hermione felt the corner of her mouth quirk slightly as she watched him. He was leaning over her, his fingers pressing along her jaw as he kept turning her head from side to side and running his thumbs lightly across her skin.