Azael's Chains

Truths

"Is there more dittany?" Hermione had cut through the thick robes despite the way they'd started to dry and stick to the man's flesh. It was just in time, as getting cloth from wounds was both painful for the patient and irritating for the medic, magic or not.

Draco swept a hand through his sweaty blond hair, looking every bit as bedraggled as she felt. "More?" Hermione nodded. "Bloody hell. Yes. In the cupboard there are shelves stocked with potions. We should have at least another bottle."

Hermione crossed the makeshift infirmary and started skimming the labels as soon as the door was open. A cry sounded over her shoulder and she whipped her wand impatiently, Summoning the vial to her fingers. She was back at her patient's side in time to push at his chest, the stuffy man protesting against the need for treatment again.

"Please let me do my job, Mr. Diggory," she repeated for the third time, thumb deftly popping out the cork. "Once you're healed enough to walk without a limp we'll see about returning you to the field."

Nearly every conscious person who'd come into the manor made the same assertions. They were fine; they didn't need healing, they needed to rejoin the fight. It was nearly as exhausting convincing them to receive care as it was to provide the care. At first it had heartened her, though that was tinged with muddy guilt that she had not joined the fray herself. Now she'd accepted her role as necessary, and wanted to see to it as quickly as she could in order to move to the next injured witch or wizard in the queue.

She was nearly dead on her feet, but a Pepper Up and determination kept Hermione going. "Alright, let me see you walk." She finished bandaging the man and stepped back to let him amble in front of her. "Hydrate and eat something-- the elves have nourishment laid out across the hall-- and you can return to the battle."

"Right." The man beamed at her. "Thank you, Miss Granger. I will see you after this mess is finished."

Hermione nodded and waved her hand toward the door, glancing around for her next task. Draco was hovering over an unconscious girl. She recognized her as a muggleborn from Ravenclaw, a girl who would be a sixth year were she allowed at Hogwarts now.

She drifted toward him, a hiss wincing from clenched teeth as too much blood entered her vision.

That explains his concentration . Dittany might help, but blood replenishing potions were called for, certainly. She darted to and fro while Draco incanted solemnly over the Ravenclaw. He slumped against the wall, cheeks flushed from effort, and Hermione lifted the girl's head to tip the red potion against her lips.

"Hope there aren't too many of those," he huffed. " Vulnera Sanentur is bloody draining as fuck."

Her brows rose but she didn't chide him; as the hours wore on, Hermione had learned that Draco Malfoy had the mouth of a Royal Marine. She stroked the girl's throat and lowered her head back to the square little pillow. "She's so young."

"So were you." His voice was heavy as stone as he studied her. "So was I. Fuck, we still are."

And what could she say to that? They were.

The girl stabilized and the two makeshift healers took the momentary peace to collapse into their seats. She was bone weary, drained physically and emotionally and, for the first time in too long, magically as well. The world drifted away in the fluttering of her lashes.

"You!" Her heart leapt into her throat as Hermione jerked violently from her nap, body stiff from sleeping in the bare wooden chair. Her torso was jolted forward, hot breath on her face as she blinked sleep away. Red-faced and snarling, Lucius Malfoy growled down at her. "You little bitch, you didn't kill him?"