Shifted

Ruthlessness

Hermione woke up after the full moon outside of the wards.

The cabin was off in the distance. Even with her decreasing fine vision she saw it. A blip of wooden boards and smoke from where the chimney was releasing from the fireplace.

The thought of heading in the opposite direction crossed her mind. Freedom spoke to her— and for a moment she was convinced that the best decision would be to defect. To disobey orders and find a way to bring Voldemort down herself.

She made it four steps before rationale caught up. The smoke of the wood fire still lingered in her nose.

The glimmer of a second set of wards shined several yards away.

Hermione should have known better than to underestimate Lupin.

She took the moment of frustration and irritation to examine herself. Twenty minutes had passed since she woke up and she'd yet to check for injuries.

Her breath caught when she looked down.

Long claw marks stretched from her navel all the way to her collarbone. The parts closer to her midsection were caked with dried flakes of blood. Closer to her chest was soaked in sticky, stomach clenching amounts of blood. It was a wonder she wasn't passed out longer due to blood loss.

The rest of her did not fare much better. Large paw shaped bruises littered her body. She limped heavily as she went off to find her wand.

Remus did not give her clothes or a first aid kit this time. She was not skilled enough in healing spells to be able to do anything but more damage to the wound across her chest.

It took her thirty minutes to close the distance between where she woke up and the cabin. Her clothes fanned out like ribbons hanging from a party banner around her, hardly covering anything. Still, she couldn't find the will to take them off.

Walking naked through the woods felt too close to an animal. She wasn't quite ready to surrender what was remaining of her pride.

Malfoy sat on the porch steps with a book in his hands. Upon her approach through the wards, his head snapped up and the book fell from his grip. She wondered if he'd been reading at all.

He was at her side in a second, eyes wide like he hadn't seen her like this a dozen times before.

His hands were on her— ghosting across her midsection with such fragility and practice that she shivered.

Healing magic oozed off him. He was muttering. So silent she couldn't make it out past the roaring in her ears, but his lips moved in tandem with his hands and she could feel her wounds close with the practiced hand of a proper healer.

"How're you doing that?" There were a million questions she should be asking. Inquiring about his healing skills first seemed selfish, but she pushed the thought away as the curiosity became biting.

He didn't answer while his examination continued, healing everything down to the shallow cuts caused by stray tree branches.

He stepped back, looking satisfied.

"It's a skill I picked up not long after you began hunting me." He pulled out his wand and stitched her clothes back together.

Hermione clenched her fists. Felt the strain in her teeth as her jaw closed of its own will.

"You mean dark magic." That he'd just used on her. It felt like a stab to the gut.

Malfoy shrugged. Turned away and headed back to the stairs for his book with an air of nonchalance.