I Learned Your Pulse

"Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater."

"Draco? Draco? Draco, please! Draco!"

Hermione's hands flitted frantically over the mashed and mangled body in front of her, feeling for a pulse, but not stopping until she'd found it in every place she knew to look. She trembled violently when she placed her hands on his chest and pushed, trying to get him to exhale, as she didnt think he was breathing - to her shock and disgust, water, blood and vomit burst from his lips. She reeled back, away from the vile fluids, thinking that mixture could only be worse with urine. And remembering what state she'd been in halfway through the last stage, she took a deep breath, and leaned her head down to the chest she'd just pushed on, and listened for breathing. It was there, but the air was only a faint wisp of oxygen floating down to his lugs and back up, and his heart rate was slowing by the millisecond. She wrung her hands nervusly, eyes wide and ears open for any indication of somebody coming, so they could help -

No. If somebody came, they might be the person that did this to him. Did she really want that person anywhere near her? But she had scared him off, unless he'd left Draco for dead before she arrived, in which case he might come back at any moment, realizing he had yet to dispose of the body. But she needed somebody's help! She was so worried, her head was pounding, and she thoughht of never seeing those grey eyes open once more. Was it better to leave him, and go for help and come back with it? But who could she trust at the moment? It might be the person that did this to him! Unless he did it to himself...?

Trusting was Hermione's nature, but she was also supremely intelligent; she knew that he had not done this to himself, but she wanted help and get do that you must trust, so she went with that theory. Was it better to find help and come back? But he might die while she was gone, she didn't want that to happen. So, take him with her and go and get help? Possibly, but how was she to carry him? Levitating him would be too creepy, it'd be like a burial for a corpse, and she couldn't think of that in relation to his problem. Take him immediately to Madame Pomfrey? How was that any different from the other option? The only one left she could think of would be...

His breathing was becoming strenuous and less often; she could no longer bear it. Whipping out her wand and pointing it at him, she said, "Sano."

Immediately, she heard him gasp a large lungful of air he probably considered blessed, and his eyes flew open.

"Draco!" she cried, swooping down and hugging him tightly, relieved that he was alive, waking, looking at things, and that she had seen his eyes once more.

"Let... go," he coughed painfully, and she did so, pulling back immediately. His mouth was still open, and she saw that he was missing several teeth; anger burrowed into the pit of her stomach at whoever had caused him this pain, but she shoved it farther down still; this was a moment where everything was about him.

"Should I take you to the Hospital Wing?" she asked, her trembling residing some.

He tried to shake his head, but ended up uttering such an innocent moan of agony she felt everything inside of her resort to tears. It was a miracle she did not cry on the outside, but this was about him, and her crying would not help. "No," he managed to get out past what appeard to be tears in his throat. It appeared to be more and more difficult for him to speak, as his jaw was swolen past to the point of disfigurement.

For one moment, his eyes met hers.

In that moment, she got a message: A message that he needed help, but wanted nobody to know it, and not because he was male, but because of something deeper, something permanently rooted inside of him to the point of automatic defense. She nodded sharply, and set to work.

"Sano," she said again, her wand at his jaw. His closed his eyes tightly against the hurt of the healing, and she felt momentary guilt, but continued on as his jaw returned to normal. He tried to keep his eyes open as she went on healing the rest of his body, but sometimes the pain was too much and he would have to shut his eyes, and without the grey orbs to guide her, she always felt lost and confused, uncertain about whether the outcome would be sufficient. He always managed to open his eyes, though, and she knew that as long as he could function, be it painfully or otherwise, they'd be enough.