Malfoy stood breathing deeply for several seconds before he turned back to Hermione.
He approached her slowly, then knelt and tilted her face up to look at her eyes again.
"The pupils are different sizes," he said after a moment. "After I've applied the Essence of Dittany, I'll send for a specialist to come and see if there's anything else to be done."
Hermione stared at him.
"You don't need my eyes to perform legilimency," she said in a wooden voice. "It's just easier that way. It won't matter if I'm blind in one eye."
She felt the fingers on her face flinch faintly and his jaw clenched.
"I consider it a matter of convenience," he said after a beat.
His thumb ghosted lightly across her cheekbone as he continued to study her.
She stared back at him. He looked haggard but maybe it only seemed that way because of how her vision blurred.
"How did you apparate from Romania?" she asked.
He gave a tired smirk. "The ability came compliments of the Dark Lord. Although — I don't believe he had any idea at the time. It was intended as a punishment."
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. She had no idea what kind of punishment could possibly have the side-effect of enabling cross-continental apparition. Some kind of horribly obscure Dark magic.
"What kind of curse—?"
"It wasn't a curse, it was a ritual, and not one I feel like discussing," he said, cutting her off abruptly.
"How did you know I'd know the spells?" she said when he kept staring at her.
"You were a healer." He shrugged. "If I'd apparated you to St Mungo's, I assumed the pressure would have wrecked your eye. Time was essential."
"Where did you learn to heal?" she asked, thinking back on all the spells and diagnostics he'd known immediately.
A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"I was a General for years, I picked things up along the way. It was an obvious skill to develop."
"Not to everyone." Hermione had tried on many occasions to teach the members of the Order more than basic emergency healing spells but most of them had been reluctant to learn much beyond episkey.
"Yes. Well, I was on the winning side, we obviously made better strategic choices," he said in a cold voice as he withdrew his hands.
"It was an unusual diagnostic spell you knew," Hermione said, ignoring his comment.
"It was a long war." He was still kneeling in front of her.
Hermione looked down at her lap for a minute, then looked back up at him. There was a headache beginning to develop in her temples from her imbalanced vision.
"You — have a natural talent for healing. In another life, you could have been a healer," she said.
"One of life's great ironies," he said glancing away from her. She thought the corner of his mouth twitched faintly, but perhaps it was just a trick of her vision.
"I suppose it is." Hermione looked down at her hands again. Her fingertips were stained with blood. So were his.
There was a crack, Topsy appeared with a small vial of Essence of Dittany which she handed to Malfoy.
"Get the door repaired," Malfoy ordered the elf, barely glancing at it as he turned back to Hermione.
Hermione started pushing herself unsteadily to her feet.
"I should — I should lay down, so it doesn't run," she said. Her balance felt off and her hands and arms shook and wouldn't bear her weight. She sank back onto the floor and bit her lip in frustration; maybe she'd just lie on the ground.
A hand closed around her elbow and drew her to her feet.
"I'm not leaning over you on the floor," Malfoy said in a cold voice as he pulled her across the room and then backed her into her bed. "Lie down here."
She felt behind herself and slid onto the bed. She pushed the pillow to the side and lay down flat.
Malfoy leaned over her, vial in hand. His face went in and out of focus every time she blinked. Dark. Light. Dark. Light.
"How many drops?" he asked.
Hermione hesitated. Essence of Dittany was expensive. When she'd been a healer she'd had to ration it; carefully weigh the benefit against the cost.
"A drop every two hours for the next several days is ideal. But, one dose of three drops will do," she finally said.
"Will do what?" he said.
"I'll probably be able to make out outlines and detect colour within a few feet," she said.
Malfoy leaned forward and used his right hand to lightly hold her left eye open while he dripped one drop of the Essence into her eye. It stung. Hermione immediately closed her eyes to refrain from blinking it away.
The hand on her face vanished.
"I'll be back in two hours. And I'll ensure Astoria stays away."
She heard his receding footsteps and raised her hand up to hold her left eye closed so she could watch him go.
He stumbled slightly when he was near the door, as though he were unsteady on his feet.
Hermione closed her eyes again and lay still, willing herself not to cry.
Don't cry. Don't cry, she told herself. It would waste the Dittany.
Malfoy reappeared two hours later with a specialist; an elderly man dressed in lime green robes. The healer's expression was drawn but he seemed determined to hide his discomfort. He barely glanced at Hermione.
"Sclera punctures are quite a nasty business," the healer said in a wheezing voice as he conjured a chair beside the bed and looked back towards Malfoy. "Not always much that can be done. Basic healing charms aren't much for preserving sight. We'll have to see what there is to work with. She was the one who told you which spells to use?"
Malfoy gave a short nod and leaned against the wall.
The healer turned toward Hermione and cast an unfamiliar ocular diagnostic charm.
Hermione stared at ribbons on colour floating over her head and but didn't know how to read them. The healer was silent for several minutes as he manipulated the diagnostic.
"This — is quite exceptional repair work," the healer said in a tone of surprise after giving the ribbon a final prod with the tip of his wand and sending little sparks of light into it. The ribbons flickered and twisted in response.
"What spell did you have him use?" the healer asked, finally looking down at Hermione's face.
"Sclera Sanentur," she said.
His eyebrows jumped. "You probably would have lost your sight if you'd gone with more common spells. Where did you learn this kind of healing?" he asked in an astonished voice.
"Austria, France, Albania, and Denmark," Hermione said, her voice subdued. "I moved around. My specialty was healing the dark arts and casualty injuries."
"Really?" The dismissive quality in the healer's behavior toward Hermione faded and he studied her thoughtfully. "I applied to study in Albania. Back in '64. Couldn't get in, my wandwork wasn't precise enough. Beautiful hospital. Their Old Magicks Department was Europe's finest."
"It was," Hermione said, her voice wistful.
"Pity how the terrorists destroyed it during the war," the healer said. "Then again," he eyed Hermione's clothing and wrists and his lip curled, "I suppose you were one of them."
"Not one who ever attacked a hospital," Hermione said.
It had been a favoured tactic of Voldemort's; attack places that should have been neutral and frame the Resistance terrorists for it. It had helped ally the public with Voldemort, and driven the Resistance further underground.
Hermione remembered when they'd gotten word the Albanian hospital had been blown up. There'd been almost no survivors; all the healers who had mentored Hermione had died in the rubble.
The Resistance in Albania had disappeared soon after.
The specialist continued to study the diagnostic reading over Hermione for several more minutes before he made it vanish with a flick of his wand. He cast a few charms that Hermione felt sink in and it grew strangely cold feeling toward the front of her brain. Then the healer leaned forward and added a drop of Essence of Dittany to her eye.