Much Ado at Nott's

Night 2

She had been crying too, late into the night. Then something caught her attention. From the room next door, she heard sounds. Not just tears like hers, tears of frustration and heartache. Tears from pain that sounded like it was not under control.

In less than a minute she was sitting on his bed asking calm, professional questions. She'd never nursed him before, and she was sure he hated her seeing him like this, but here it was.

"Were you injured?" she asked calmly, picking up the scattered bottles and vials from the floor. "Theo didn't mention anything. You asked him not to tell anyone, didn't you?"

He nodded and grimaced, pain flaring through him. She made eye contact and lowered her eyes to let him know she was going to remove his clothing.

First she unbuttoned his shirt and eased it off. His forearm fell to the bed, the Dark Mark long since removed, a faint white scar all that was left.

Then she slid off his pants, leaving his boxers alone.

She winced as she gazed at his healing body, crisscrossed with battle wounds. Cuts and abrasions and bruises more severe than she'd expected. Remnants of acid hexes, boiling liquid hexes, raw damage to his skin. Along his arm, the telltale, jagged line of a narrowly missed curse.

She passed her hand over a huge, blooming bruise on his stomach. Did they even do anything for him at the hospital?

"No internal injuries?" she asked, and he shook his head no. She asked some more questions and learned that what she was seeing was the improved version. When he'd gone in he'd looked even more like hell than he did now.

She looked at the potions he'd been prescribed and went back to her room to fetch the kit she always carried. She adjusted his dosages and had him sit up and drink something.

As it took effect, she wrapped her arm around him and braced him as he rode out several long, dull waves of pain.

Then he spoke.

"Hermione. I don't want to fight anymore," he said, his fingers lacing with hers. He looked at her with the rawest look he'd ever given her.

"You don't have to," she said softly, missing his meaning, and brushed his hair back. "You've done this for such a long time. You've more than proven yourself. Who are you doing this for?"

"For you," he said softly, his head moving toward her, and in his delirium she thought he might be about to kiss her. She felt scared when she realized she wouldn't push him away.

Instead of kissing her, he settled his head on her shoulder. She was just a healer now, not a lover, and the velvet of his skin was just a patient's skin. And then the final potion she had him drink helped him go to sleep. She slipped away, but promised herself to attach no meaning to it. It was just another thing that had happened in the night.