||Now It's Just Us||

Chapter 11

The first thing Hermione noticed when she came home was the silence. It was a deafening silence, one that pressed down on her and made her feel like maybe she had lost her sense of hearing. Her sour mood over her dream melted away completely to accomodate space for her concern.

The fact that Carson had gone through several bottles of firewhiskey was consciously avoided from conversation. On some days, he'd be glum. He'd turn to her as though to say something, then snap his mouth shut and turn away. She caught him staring at her on multiple occasions, and on all of those he looked away when she looked at him. His expression would be intense, conflicted. On other days, he'd be his usual arrogant self, mocking her and making her want to hex him into the Jurassic age. She always retaliated with equally snarky remarks, of course. Maybe today was one of his glum days.

Hermione walked through the silent house. He wasn't in the kitchen, but there was a smashed bottle of firewhiskey in it. Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. Her worry escalated. She quickened her steps to his bedroom, the door to which was ajar, so he wasn't in it. The shower was silent. She checked out in the hallways just in case. When she turned back to face the apartment, she noticed that the bathroom door wasn't completely closed. 

"Carson?" Hermione drew her wand out and cautiously walked to the door. She pushed it open with her free hand.

Her hand flew to her mouth.

The most visible thing in the bathroom was the blood. A trail of blood seeped from his arm and across the floor, and a huge gash could be seen on his abdomen. Blood pooled in the deep cut. His left arm was lined with long cuts that bled steadily onto the floor. The - now red - white full sleeve button up shirt had its sleeves rolled up. A silver knife which was hauntingly familiar to Hermione lay on the floor, inches away from his fingers. His eyes were closed, and the platinum blond tresses were dishevelled. There were pieces of glass in his hair, and his shirt was torn at places.

Draco Malfoy.

In her bathroom.

Draco Malfoy in her bathroom, with his shirt soaked in his own blood.

Hermione acted fast. She levitated his body off the bloody floor and moved him to the living room. She laid him down on the carpet, and immediately bent down to check his pulse.

He was alive. She hadn't been too late.

Thank Merlin.

Looking at the kind of cut, he had Sectumsempraed himself.

"Vulnera sanentur," Hermione trailed her wand tip along his split knuckles and the cuts on his arm, before moving on to the larger one on his torso. Her wand lingered over his arm. The arm with the Dark Mark. It was scarred, she could see the silvery scar tissue. He'd been doing this for a while now. Hermione accidentally jabbed one of the cuts too hard, and Malfoy's fingers twitched. She repeated the incantation several times, before restoring his consciousness with another muttered incantation.

Malfoy coughed and pulled in huge amounts of air. Hermione sagged back in relief. Her racing heart slowed down by a scruple. As Malfoy coughed and spluttered, Hermione put an arm under his shoulders and lifted him up to prevent him from overstraining his lungs. She watched in horror as Draco Malfoy, ever the cold, emotionless Slytherin, broke down while she held him up. His sobs reverberated through the walls, and his entire body shook and shuddered as he continued sobbing. The blood on Hermione's hands rubbed off on his hair. He had gripped Hermione's wrist with such force that it hurt. 

"It's okay, it's okay," Hermione whispered in an attempt to calm him and herself down, "you're okay now, you're fine."

Hermione summoned a glass of water to her and lifted it to his lips. He pushed her hand away.