wind - Dramione

7

Hermione was laying on his bed, staring at a candle he had lit for her, curled into a fetal position, her eyes never wavering.

"Sit up," he commanded, gently. As she did what she was told, he started to smooth over her bruise with an ice cube.

"Why don't you use magic?" she said lightly, staring at his face that was focused very deeply on hers. She saw something in her eyes, maybe it was the trick of the light.

"I don't trust magic to heal my wounds."

Without another word, he continued to ice her bruise, a worried expression pasted on his face. She swept her eyes across his face, as he was tending to hers. The way his eyelashes tickled his cheeks when he looked down to grab another ice cube from the vowel he was holding, brushing across small freckles she had never noticed before. Their faces were awfully close, but neither had realized until Draco tore his eyes from her bruise to look into hers.

For a moment they stayed there, not daring to move a muscle. They started at each other, before something shifted in Draco's eyes causing him to back away slowly. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Is there anywhere else?"

She nodded as he went to grab more ice and returned.

He sat back down across from her with the bowl of ice in his hand. She placed her fingers on the hem of her sweater before pulling it over her head, leaving her in her nude colored bra. At first Draco was hesitant to look at her, for fear he may be tempted.

"Granger..." he said, looking away to fight whatever attraction he felt inside. The temptation in his mind began to cease as she was now exposing all of her cuts and bruises, along her ribs and arms, her chest. Temptation was replaced with fury. His brow furrowed until the emotion developed into longing and sadness for her. He didn't know what to say. "Lie back down."

She laid on her back uncomfortably, but she turned her head to look at him, a concerned air hung around him. The space was lit only by candlelight.

As Draco tended to her wounds, she had nothing to do but look at him. She felt the stinging of prolonged coldness on her skin, but ignored it. The orange light bounced off Draco's hair, giving it a golden appearance that she found alluring. Of course she told herself this was merely friendly admiration. She loved Ron. And he loved her.

Draco examined her body carefully, pain flashing through his eyes as he slid ice gently over her bruises and cuts. His fingers grazed her ribs, making her shiver under his touch. She looked awful. Draco wanted to kill him. Any man who could do this to his wife was no friend of his, no friend of humanity. How could a man claim to love someone one day and hurt them the next?

Hermione seemed to believe Ron still had love for her. It was not his place to tell her otherwise, but Draco knew for himself that Ronald was no good.

Running his last ice cube across her ribs, he broke Hermione out of her trance.

"Granger... What happened?"

She looked away, making it obvious she didn't want to discuss it.

With a sigh, he got up to place the bowl in the kitchen sink and proceeded to make a pallet of blankets on the floor next to the bed. She had scolded him when they first got there claiming it was his flat, his bed, in which he retorted it was his flat, his floor.

He got settled on the floor, laying on his back, staring at the ceiling that was still illuminated with the candle he had lit for her.

Hermione laid on her side, toward Draco, looking at him with curiosity.

"Malfoy?" she whispered, he turned his head to face her. "You never answered my question. About the donation?"

He smiled, a real smile, but did not answer. She smiled in return but it slipped off her face.

"What happened to your mum?"

He let out a deep exhale, turning his gaze back to the ceiling. He wondered if he should tell her. He wondered if he was ready for that.

"Mum killed herself after dad died in Azkaban," he said, quite nonchalantly. He had always found it difficult to talk about, but here, with Hermione, it came easy.

Her face didn't change, which he was glad for. The last thing he needed was her pity. After a couple seconds of silence, Hermione still thinking about what Draco had said, she spoke up.

"I liked her, you know," Hermione smiled, staring at the candle, "The Ministry tried to prosecute her years back but I dismissed the case. The only thing she was really guilty of was loving her son more than anything."

Draco stared at her in awe. How was it she had said the perfect thing to such a depressing topic? She didn't say she was sorry or express pity. She complimented his mother in a way that hit his heart, deeply.

"Thank you, Malfoy," she yawned, "I don't know if I could've handled staying there tonight. Don't worry, though, I'll be out of your hair in the morning."

His face fell once more.

"Get some sleep, Granger," he breathed as he blew out the candle, leaving them in the dark, but not alone.

***

Most of the night went on without problem, but around three in the morning, Hermione heard noises that woke her up immediately. Whimpers and cries with an unknown source until she looked at Draco. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his head moving from side to side involuntarily. She reached out to his, half asleep, to get him to calm down a bit.

He sensed the movement as woke up with a start, pulling Hermione's arm until she fell on the floor beside him, eyes barely open, he straddled her, pointing his wand to her throat. She raised her hands in surrender, tears forming in her eyes before he realized what was happening. His heavy breaths began to slow as he climbed off of her.

Hermione was frozen with fear. She felt like was being attacked, having a wand pointed at her. Her breathing stalled.

"Granger, I'm so sorry," he whispered, rubbing her back, attempting to dissolve the discomfort and fear he had instilled in her only moments ago. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. Please forgive me. I would've never..."

He continued to whisper his apologies into her ear until she sat up and told him it was alright. Was it actually alright? She wasn't sure.

Hermione stayed on the floor, on her side facing Draco, in her bra and her pajama pants, stroking his hair off of his forehead. She repetitively swiped her thumb across his forehead, trying to get him to fall asleep with more comfort. His eyes started to flutter shut just before Hermione's did the same.

She woke relatively early, finding her body pressed against his. His arms were wrapped around her waist, his hands resting on her upper back, her arms cradling his head to her chest. It was a different kind of experience. Ron was never the type to hold her. They would embrace each other, get frisky enough to have sex, and then he would roll over and fall asleep. It felt foreign to her, but the more she thought about it, the more it felt wrong. Another man shouldn't have been allowed to hold her in this way and she shouldn't have been entertaining it.

Pushing her body off his, careful not to wake him, she found herself hesitating. Her arms slipped past his face but stopped involuntarily. Her hand hovered over his face, his face that was normally so riddled with pain, but was peaceful and calm.

Her sweater was still on the bed and she quickly tugged it over her head. Grabbing her shoes, after folding the blankets of course, she quietly made her way to the door. She couldn't bear to think of the look on his face when he found that she was gone, but wouldn't dare stay there. It wasn't right.

She considered leaving a note, but quickly decided against it; she wouldn't even know what to write. Would she tell her she was eternally grateful? Or that she had never felt that feeling before... She didn't even know what it was. It was comfort, but different, tenderness, but stronger, weakness, but welcomed. She wouldn't dare call it love or anything of the sort. The entire premise scared her half to death.

So she left.