Isolation

36. Wands

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Hermione twirled the strand of black hair between her thumb and forefinger, and watched it spin like a miniature tornado.

After waking up some ten minutes ago and taking her potion, she had slipped out of Draco's arms and tested her legs. Still numb from the waist down, she had half-hobbled and half-crawled to the chest of drawers where Tonks had told her she would find her bag. She'd started to remove the contents - mainly her potions and books - checking that nothing had been damaged during their encounter with the Snatchers and the incidents that had followed in Malfoy Manor, and when she'd found her bloodstained clothes, she'd shuddered to the onslaught of flashbacks they'd stirred.

And then she'd found the strand of hair, tucked between the threads of her jumper; definitely not hers, and almost certainly Bellatrix's.

She twirled it again, focussing on the black, coiled wisp and analysing it so intently, her eyes began to feel dry and sore.

"Granger, what the hell are you doing?"

His voice startled her and she whipped her head around to meet his inquiring stare, quickly hiding the hair in the pocket of her bag. "Nothing," she said. "I was just making sure the Snatchers hadn't taken anything, or broken something."

"Were you even paying attention when Tonks said that you should take it slow? Or are you just intent on injuring yourself further-

"Draco, I have some temporary nerve damage," she frowned. "I am not made of glass."

"Well, forgive me for trying to be sensible," he drawled slowly. "But I think it would be a wise idea for you to wait until I am awake before you try to walk around-

"Yes, because there are so many hazardous objects in our room."

"I guarantee you'd manage to find one."

She scoffed but didn't respond, instead smiling appreciatively as he raised his arms above his head to stretch, watching the muscles in his arms distend, flex, and strain against the short sleeves of his t-shirt. She thought he was his most beautiful in the morning; his hair slightly ruffled, his features relaxed, and his musky signature scent overpowering everything in the room. She mused it might be because all of his defences were down, or maybe it was because she was the only one who really had a chance to observe him like this, but either way, it was a temporary state, which made it all the more captivating to her.

"What time is it?" he asked. "It's still looks dark outside."

"Quite early," she replied. "About eight, I think."

"Come back to bed," he mumbled over a yawn. "I would offer you a hand, but I know you'll refuse.

She nodded stubbornly. "I can do it myself."

Crawling her way closer to the bed, she gripped the nightstand and heaved herself up, grunting with the effort. She managed to keep her footing for a few seconds, but when she went to take a step she stumbled, and landed on the bed in a graceless heap.

"Well, that was dignified," said Draco drolly.

"Oh, hush. I got up, didn't I?"

"Yes, and it only took an hour."

"Don't exaggerate, it's not attractive."

"Everything I do is attractive," he quipped, and his brow furrowed as Hermione burst into a fit of giggles. She futilely attempted to smother her laughter into her hand, as she often did; her body shaking and causing her tousled curls to spill around her shoulders. "Would you like me to leave and come back when you're finished?" he asked flatly.