Wanderer

Medicine

Chapter Five- Medicine

Hermione took him to the Hospital Wing immediately. She wrapped her arm around his waist and though he was narrow and lithe, he was heavy, leaning his weight into her, chaining them together in a slow, dragging stumble.

She could hear every hiss of pain and ragged breath in her ear, and the heat of each sigh on her cheek. Malfoy was uncommonly warm. Or maybe she was just burning. Either way, the journey across the school was one made in scorching silence.

Vaguely, she thought she could use magic to make him lighter, or even to levitate him completely. He clung to her so tightly though, his hand bunched into the material of her shirt, that she couldn't let him go. If she let him go, Hermione thought, he'd fall and never stop falling.

They burst through the Hospital Wing doors, and Madam Pomfrey immediately appeared from her office, her usual indignant self, proclaiming, "Oh honestly, Mr Collier, if that's you again-" but the chastisement died on her lips when she caught sight of Malfoy.

"Mr Malfoy," she said. Then, she snapped her mouth shut at the sorry state of him and assumed her professionalism once more. "Miss Granger, if you could get him onto a bed."

She bustled over, helping Hermione lift Malfoy onto the bed, muttering at him when he snapped at her. Then, she tapped his shoulder with her wand, and his shoes unlaced themselves from his feet, flying to the floor, and his shirt vanished, reappearing over the back of the chair. Hermione might have blushed, but her jaw slackened and she could only stare at him. The smooth expanse of Malfoy's chest was pale and lean, clinging tight to his collarbones, faintly outlining muscles he'd no doubt acquired through the hours of Quidditch Practise accumulated over the years-

And yet, all of it was marred. He had bruises of purple and blue, fresh and dark, and older ones that had already started going yellow, spread across his body, disappearing under the waistline of his trousers, curving around his waist. They were ugly and garish against the whiteness of his skin, sickeningly stark. Small cuts scattered over the swell of his ribs, which had hollowed out, almost like he'd starved himself. Running the length of his torso, from the gasping valley of his throat to his bellybutton, was a thick, red scar. It was somehow worse to look at than his Dark Mark. It glistened in the sunlight. Hermione couldn't look away.

"Broken ribs," Madam Pomfrey was murmuring. She'd summoned potions and a bowl of water and flannel to the bedside table. As if she had just remembered Hermione was still there, the nurse lifted her head and said, "Miss Granger, get a flannel and clean up his face, please."

Hermione hesitated. Even Malfoy seized up at the command. Despite her reservations, she rolled her sleeves up to her elbows and took the wet flannel, squeezing it over the basin. Gingerly, with shaking hands, she pressed it against the corner of his lip. Hamelin had punched him so hard that his lip had split in two places. Malfoy wrenched his face away from her.

He stubbornly stared at the wall. Hermione swallowed. She dabbed at his cheek, where the blood had dried, but he turned his head further away, deeper into the pillow. She took his chin and forcibly, but gently, pulled it back to face her, wiping at his mouth, ignoring the way he winced and glared at her.

"Swallow your pride," she muttered to him.

Malfoy neglected to reply, but his jaw tightened under her fingers. His blue gaze remained fixed on her. She could see the waxiness of his cheeks, the sleepless moons under his eyes. Hermione cleaned him up best she could but whilst the blood disappeared, the grey remained, permeating into every part of him, draining him of his life. Madam Pomfrey coaxed him into drinking a number of potions, running her wand over his jutting ribs to heal him. He laid on the bed at the end of it, sinking into the whiteness of the sheets. Hermione had never seen him look so fragile.