Her jaw kept trembling, and she ground her teeth together for a moment before she slipped his wand into his fingers. “Can — can you do the spell for me then?”
He muttered the spells while she guided his fingers, tapping across the pressure points of his right hand and up his forearm. His fingers spasmed repeatedly as she helped him send the mild vibrations into the drawn muscles, easing the tension.
His fingers finally fell open after several minutes, and she lay his wand aside. She picked up his right hand and began trying to fix all the damage. Her fingers began cramping, and she ignored it and kept working until his hand stopped twitching and would lay still.
She picked up the last potion she'd brought over and poured a small amount of the embrocation onto her palm. Starting at the ball of his thumb, she began rubbing it in gently, working down to his wrist and forearm and then up to his shoulders. The potion was warm and made her skin tingle as she massaged it into his skin, trying to repair all the rigid knots and torn muscles.
When she looked up after finishing both arms, Draco was asleep, his eyebrows tightly furrowed.
She studied him for several seconds before reaching out and brushing her fingertip lightly between his eyes, trying to banish the tension.
Without Draco to cast the spells, trying to massage away the knots and tremors took longer. She continued anyway.
Without him awake, she could safely cry while she worked.
He slept for nearly forty-eight hours. Hermione stayed with him almost the entire time. His expression relaxed when she was in bed beside him, talking to him quietly about anything that came to mind, running her fingers through his hair and working on his muscle damage. She nearly depleted his entire supply of embrocation potions.
When she became too restless to sit beside him, she would quietly pace. She looked out the window the next morning and spotted Lucius walking the length of the North Wing as though he were trying to measure it in paces. He looked up, and their eyes met.
Hermione's blood ran cold. She met his gaze for only a moment before shrinking back from sight.
Everytime Draco woke, Hermione checked his eyes and had him perform basic healing spells for her. He kept dozing until Bobbin came to report that Lucius was at Draco's door and threatening to break it down if he didn't see Draco.
Draco forced himself up. “How long have I been here? I was only given three days off. Bobbin, bring me a full set of robes.”
Hermione tried to hold him back. “Draco, wait. Your eyes still haven't recovered. You still have half a day. You need to rest for as long as possible.”
He rolled his eyes and stood up stiffly as Bobbin popped back in with a pile of robes. “That's what I keep pain relief for.”
He dressed and made his way over to all the potions Bobbin had brought. He squinted as he held them a few inches from his face, trying to read the labels. He knocked back five of them in quick succession, ignoring Hermione's objections that certain types of pain relief shouldn't be combined.
He rolled his eyes. “I'm well-versed in pain relief. I can almost guarantee it won't be the thing that kills me.”
He blinked repeatedly and shook his head.
Hermione could tell he still couldn't see reliably. “Be careful, Draco.”
He smiled briefly as he met her eyes. “I'll be fine.”
She still caught the tensed, braced expression on his face the split second before he apparated.
Bobbin came a few hours later and took away all the medical supplies. Master Draco was fine, she said while avoiding Hermione's eyes, he just wanted to inventory which potions Hermione had used.
Hermione was left alone to occupy herself in her cage, worrying and wondering what was happening beyond her bedroom door.
Chapter End Notes
Hermione pregnant by thegirlthatreadsfantasybooks.
Chapter 71
July 2005
Bobbin brought porridge for breakfast the next morning. Hermione didn't feel like eating and ignored the tray while she paced around her room.
Draco hadn't come back since he'd left to see his father. She was sick of waiting. She wasn't going to just sit impotently in her bedroom and wait for Ginny to come and Draco to die.
She strode over to the door and pulled it open with a jerk.
“Don't!” A sharp voice screamed.
Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin and turned to find Narcissa had leapt out of her chair and appeared on the verge of attempting to climb out of her frame.
Hermione stared wide-eyed across the room at Narcissa, her hand against her chest. Her heart felt as though it had jumped into her mouth.
Narcissa stared back at her.
“You can't go out. Draco isn't on the estate.” Her voice was sharp and imperious.
Hermione had somehow thought she'd sound more broken. She drew a deep breath and looked at Narcissa warily. “You can tell?”
Narcissa gave short nod. “The magic of the estate knows.”
Hermione closed the door slowly and walked over to the portrait. She studied Narcissa, taking note of the traits that Draco had inherited. The same mouth. The same mannerisms. In school, she'd thought Draco took entirely after his father, but now she saw how Narcissa subtly shone through Draco's Malfoy traits and features.
“I want to save your son,” Hermione said.
Narcissa's mouth pursed tightly, and she raised an eyebrow. “You can't. If you really thought you could, you wouldn't be stalking around the room like a caged nundu.”
Hermione didn't blink. “Draco will die if I don't do something.”
Narcissa's expression fractured briefly then it smoothed and she glanced away. “There are worse things than dying.” She straightened the cuff of her sleeve. “You don't know what my son was like when you went missing. You don't have any idea.”
It was strange to see a teenage girl refer to a man a nearly decade older than herself as her son.
“I saved him.”
“You wouldn't have needed to if you'd just left sooner the way he'd begged you to. There were other people that mattered more to you than doing what he asked,” Narcissa said, her voice cold.
She was so young, Hermione realised. Portraits didn't evolve or mature, they stayed the way they were. The fact that Narcissa's portrait showed signs of any trauma showed just how very deep it had been. Fundamentally, she was still Narcissa Black, sixteen years old and full of romantic haughtiness.
“Why didn't Narcissa run when Draco asked her to? Because of Lucius?”
Narcissa's portrait stiffened. “No. Lucius is… he — he…” her mask fell apart. “He loved me — her — more than anything. She wanted to go — after the triwizard tournament — but Lucius swore Draco wouldn't have to take the mark. When he was arrested, she was certain the Dark Lord would come for Draco. She was going to take him as he was home from school. But… the Dark Lord came here first. Then… then — then afterwards—”
“She stayed to keep him alive,” Hermione said. “Draco wouldn't have kept trying once he knew she was safe. He would have been dead in a matter of weeks.”
Narcissa looked away but gave a short nod of acknowledgement.
Hermione stepped closer. “I want to save Draco. If you told Lucius — if he knew—”
“That is out of the question,” Narcissa said in a razor-sharp voice.
Hermione stared in surprise at Narcissa's flashing, enraged eyes. It slowly dawned on her that Narcissa's portrait loved Lucius far more than she loved Draco.
The Narcissa in the portrait wasn't a mother. She was a teenage witch engaged to a wizard who adored her. She might call Draco her son and watch over Hermione, but fundamentally she would always choose Lucius first. She would let Draco die if it protected Lucius from the knowledge of what had happened.