requirement | dramione

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Hermione's hand had still been on Draco's face when she watched the color rush away from his cheeks. She felt the loss of contact on her own cheek as his hand went loose. His crystal gray eyes rolled back as he fainted, his body sinking at the knees before falling forward.

"Draco!" She tried to land her hands flatly against his chest, but he was far bigger than her and too heavy. She felt his full weight fall against her, knocking her shoulder against his sternum. She wrapped one hand behind his head as his body pulled them both to the stone floor. She tried to tuck his head in the crook of her neck as she fell to her knees and lowered him onto his back.

"Draco–" She yelled again, pulling both of her hands to his face. Adrenaline rushed into every ounce of Hermione's body as she shook him.

He was horribly pale. Even his lips had lost their inviting pink hue. Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat– he looked dead.

"Wake up, God, please." She was whispering, then, and grabbing at his shoulders between her shuddering breaths.

It was the last thing she had been expecting that evening. Draco Malfoy passed out in her arms. Draco Malfoy looking sick enough to be taken to the hospital. Of all people, Draco Malfoy– the one to nearly give her a heart attack.

She sucked in a deep breath between barred teeth. She couldn't help him if she couldn't relax.

She counted the steps that her parents had always taken. Assess the injury.

Hermione pushed herself away from him enough to account for the rise and fall of his chest. She ran her hands from his collarbones to his hips. His dark gray tee shirt was thick and flatted to his abdomen. Her gaze reached the hem of his shirt and caught on his right hand.

Draco's palm faced up to the ceiling, open and wan. The color of his hand was stark in contrast to the tips of his pointer and middle finger. They were covered with blood. Relatively fresh blood, she thought, and felt her stomach sink even further.

Assess the injury, she told herself again.

She held her breath. She knew what was coming. She'd imagined this moment in a thousand different versions. She'd made herself sleepless and sick to her stomach over the thought of it. Now the time had come. Her opportunity for clarity was right in front of her. She was hesitating.

If she knew, truly knew, her crime was so much worse than suspicion.

She was holding her breath and she leant over his torso and took his left hand into hers. She thought, just for a moment, that she could feel the Dark Magic seeping from beneath his gray sleeve. A dull, wet stain was beginning to show through the thick fabric. She fought the urge and her stomach that told her to stop as she pushed his sleeve down to his elbow.

His arm looked as if it had been mauled. On the finest pale skin she had ever seen, a mix of fresh and old bloodied wounds and a mass of black ink. There was no mistaking the Dark Mark there– like a violent stain on Draco Malfoy's snow-like skin, even beneath all the tearing.

Assess.

Hermione choked as she uttered healing spells. Every healing charm she could think of, twice over, she tried on Draco's forearm. Nothing worked. Why couldn't she fix it?

Assess. Then aid.

She held tears behind a bitten lip as she summoned a cloth to gently wipe at the wounds, trying to find the source of so much blood.

She pressed the cloth against his skin, covering the Dark Mark beneath the pale cotton material. At the same time, she pressed her eyes closed and willed herself not to cry.