The boy in the hammock

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

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The cave was just as she remembered it. She, Harry and Ron had only stayed here for a night before moving on, much to her dismay. They complained it was too small, too remote to be able to find food and hide comfortably.

Not that they were ever really comfortable on the run, but she suspected the boys found the cave a bit too claustrophobic for their liking.

Hermione disagreed. From the minute she found the cave, she felt welcomed and safe. It was dry, exceptionally well hidden, and was located in a remote but extremely stunning part of the mountainous region they had been crossing. She would have been happy to stay there for months, had the boys let her.

Not only that, but the cave calmed her. It was as though it contained some deep, soothing magic that spoke directly to her soul. Ron and Harry didn't seem to notice it, but to Hermione, the cave practically hummed with warmth.

Now she was here again, the familiar calming hum surrounding her, and she couldn't be more thankful. Being separated from Harry and Ron, not to mention the presence of the broken body in front of her, was enough to keep her on the brink of panic. She needed the steady rhythm she knew the cave would provide. She also knew, although she couldn't explain it, that the cave would keep her safe.

The body in front of her stirred, and Hermione looked down, seeing the damage up close for the first time.

Blood. So much blood. Blood dripping across the boy's chest and down his arms, leaking off his fingers. Deep stains on the legs of his jeans. Blood soaking through the hood that covered his face and head. Hermione shuddered to think of the damage hiding underneath. The sharp smell of the blood was inescapable, filling up the small cave within seconds.

She felt her stomach heave, and stumbled to the mouth of the cave to be sick. Harry and Ron had seen their share of bad injuries over the past year and a half, all healed by her, but this was different. The scope of the damage was far worse, for one. She didn't even know if she could heal the wounds, as much as her skills had improved thanks to an unwelcome amount of practical application.

But besides that, this person was a stranger. She knew Harry and Ron so well, both their minds, and their bodies. Ron, for example, had a click in his left elbow because of a bone that healed badly as a child. Harry had extremely sensitive skin on his left hip from being burned by a terrible hex six months ago. Hermione could identify and explain every scar on their bodies. She knew what made them tick. She wouldn't hesitate to strip them down and heal them, modesty be damned.

But this person? He was bleeding his life out in front of her, and she was terrified to act. Part of her fear was practical - if what she heard was correct, this individual had been working for Voldemort until recently. What if they still were, despite what the Death Eaters had said? What if she was putting herself in immense danger?

On an impractical note, Hermione hadn't spent time with anyone other than Harry and Ron for the past year and a half. Something about being in the presence of someone unknown was deeply unsettling to her. She was too far out of her comfort zone, as fucked up as her comfort zone might be. Even she could admit how strange that was.

Too bad you didn't consider any of this when you butted in to a dangerous situation.

Oh, who was she kidding? She had been living a 'dangerous situation' for longer than she could remember. Besides, danger or not, she had to act. And since she had acted, she had to finish what she started. That meant keeping this boy alive.