𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 [𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐬𝐢𝐱

HERMIONE couldn't believe the condition Malfoy was in when they found him.

His starved appearance was something she had already seen before—back in sixth year when the ink of the dark mark besmirched his skin. 

Actively, she meant, she knew it still coated there. And then again when he had awoken from his coma.

But the damage his hands had suffered through—a deep red, mottled with blisters and black singes, an unbelievably scorching heat radiating on the surface of his skin. His feet held an identical amount of damage.

Malfoy wore torment along his features, and it earned Hermione's curiosity as to where it had come from.

She had started to lose sight of her determination to find him; somewhere deep within her an acceptance that he had been killed slowly rising as the days went on.

And she was on the verge of giving up when Zabini agreed to help her search. She should have thought of going to him first, considering he is the blonde man's best friend, but she hoped it wouldn't have to come to that since his judgmental demeanor wasn't something she wanted to put up with.

But alas, she did, and it wasn't half as bad as she originally expected, but nothing could've prepared her for what she had seen.

Her entire body froze as she watched Zabini scoop the beaten man into his arms and apparated them to the hospital, calling out desperately for a healer.

Hermione couldn't fathom her place, her shock held her glued to the floor beneath her as her heart pounded savagely in her throat.

Her sight lifted to the ceiling and something in the intensity of the lights fused with her sheer exhaustion from the lack of a proper nights sleep for days on end drove her feet to crash to the floor with a thud, her world closing in around her.

She woke up a few hours after that in the staff room with Avery sitting across from her, her face contorted in worry as she cared for her best friend, whom she hadn't seen in a while.

She had Hermione drink plenty of water and eat something small before allowing her to even stand. The first thing that swallowed her mind was Malfoy, and what happened after she passed out.

Avery had explained everything to her—how he had been taken to be examined thoroughly in another hospital, how she had to listen to Zabini shed more tears than she ever imagined, and that they weren't sure how long Malfoy were last.

But the worst part of it all, the sentence that made her heart sink in her chest, was when Avery told her about what she found out about him.

"They found a lot of drugs in his system, Hermione. Malfoy overdosed—he tried to kill himself."

Malfoy had been brought back to St. Mungo's two days later, where he lay resting in the room he called his own. And Hermione wasted no time in visiting him.

Of course, the first time he was asleep. But she didn't leave then, instead she pulled up a chair next to his bed and seated herself in it, entwining her hands together and leaning her elbows on the clean linen.

And she cried, because of her worries for him. Her friend, who she'd abandoned and let him put himself in danger. A man who she knew instantly regretted his choice of words two weeks back—she knew he didn't understand the true meaning of it, but either way, he had to deal with the consequences of his actions. Purposefully or not.

When the air in the room thickened enough to suffocate her, she fled to the corridors, needing a water break. She returned soon afterwards, having pressed her cool fingertips against the heated plane of her face. And he was awake, staring at her in awe and sorrow.