Short Stories

01 ; dramione

"I'll be back to bring my wand, stay put in the lounge," She warned, her voice comforting Draco. After all, the only voice he'd heard in the past week was the being who he loathed the most; He Who Must Not Be Named.

Malfoy remembered Voldemort's cold laugh, making a shiver be sent down his spine and he felt his wounds grow loads more painful. He groaned and stood up. Whereas sitting would have been the more comfortable option, his scars and wounds did not seem to be liking all of the pressure that sitting gave to them. He stood up and felt like knives were being pulled out of him. Of course he'd know how that'd feel like.

As if right on time, Hermione came rushing back in with her wand. Draco had never looked at it this closely before, not like it mattered. "Lay down," Hermione ordered, pointing to her couch.

Draco obliged, ignoring the pain that shot through him during the process. Hermione took a deep breath and thought of a spell that would fix the broken bones, if there were any. She was almost positive that Draco had broken at least one bone from whatever happened to him.
A spell came to her head and she said it aloud, "Brackium Emendo," Hearing a pop, she knew she was disgustingly correct.

"Ow, fuck," Draco moaned.

"Sorry," Hermione apologised. She thought of another spell that would help him. In the meantime, she had a question that was bugging her.

"Who is coming after you? Who did this to you?" She inquired safely, making sure not to dig too deep into what happened. She wanted him to feel loved and invited, which was quite ironic, saying how he never made her or her friends feel that way. For some reason, Hermione felt obligated to help him. Something about him seemed more positive that before.

Draco knew he couldn't avoid this anymore. He had to answer truthfully. After all, she was doing the best she could to heal him.

"Episkey, Vulnera Sanentur," she muttered, clearing his broken nose and the minor and major cuts he had.

After that, she washed off the blood she could on his face, arms and legs.

"That should have fixed him," Hermione thought, "Other than a shower and a good night's sleep."

"The D-Dark Lord," he croaked, his voice extremely hoarse and silent.

"I won't ask anymore. But you should wash up, you smell like shit," Hermione joked in attempt to lighten the dark mood. No pun intended.

Draco laughed and glanced over to the fireplace that was lit, then looked back over to Hermione, "Thanks for doing this. I don't know how long I would have lasted. And thank you for not asking questions, I'm sure anyone else would have,"

She gave him a smile that made Draco feel reassured and welcome; something he hadn't felt since his time at Hogwarts. "I'll get you a towel, stay right here," she demanded.

He nodded, even though she didn't see. Malfoy liked this Hermione. She was nice and calm. He liked the old Hermione too, only he seemed to feel different now toward her than he used to. He shrugged it off and followed Hermione, not wanting to be alone any longer. She turned around and realised he was following her. She gripped her wand firmly through the pockets of her dark blue jeans. All though she knew Malfoy was trustworthy, she still had the image of his old school persona glued in the back of her mind.