The Fallout by EveryThursday (reposted)

Forty-Two

Day: 1542; Hour: 16

It feels like a blink. Like she had just blinked her eyes right after Draco began to crumble down and the numbness took her, and then she just opened her eyes to a completely different scene. There are no memories, no long dark void, just a blink.

She cocks her head at the tight concern on Draco's face. Why is this strange again? Why is she here, where is here, and why is he looking at her like that? There is a deep pain in her body, and her heart is a jackhammer, and she doesn't know why.

"Hermione," Draco whispers harshly, gritting his teeth as he shakes her.

"Dray?" She shakes her head, clearing out the fuzz around her vision. "Co?"

Okay. Alright. The ruins, the coin, the manor, Draco, the team, compromised. The yellow streaks, numb, but there's a ceiling over his shoulder and not a forest with enemies and spells. Where-- "We have to go. Carrying you is one thing, but you have to stop screaming."

"What?" She shakes her head, pushing to sit up as her body shakes, and he stands, lifting her to her feet instead. Her body protests, pain flaring up, and a whimper strangles in her throat. She can't see properly out of her left eye. Her face feels like it's tight and filled with air.

Draco's bare chest is covered in blood. There's a gash still oozing blood a finger's length below his left collarbone, running from the middle of his chest to the crease of his armpit. There's another, a large Z, at the right side of his stomach, and his wrists are bleeding. His left eye is swollen shut under a bruise of purple that travels down his nose and around his other eye. There's a welt of a bruise on his jaw, and a split in his mouth. It's full blown panic on his face, and it only increases her own fear.

"Can you walk?" The question comes from the man over his shoulder, a face she recognizes as one that Harry had thrown into the shadows a couple...seconds ago?

"Of course."

Draco grabs her arm, spinning them out into a...hall? Torches line the wall, but only a few are lit, flickering against the thick shadows. As soon as her foot jolts down in a run, she has to bite back the vocal exclamation of her pain, her knees wobbling out. There's a tearing sensation across her left ribs, a blinding pain in her right, and burning, burningburning in her entire back.

Her body automatically pulls to a halt, as if knowing she can't go on before her mind does, and Draco is lifting her into his arms like he was expecting it the entire time. Like he was already bending to do it before she even stopped. She hisses as he jostles her, the arm under her knees fine, but the arm against her back intensifying the burn. She throws her arm around his neck, lifting herself against him, but his arm only follows. With a start she notices that she's wearing his shirt, and she can't tell which seeping maroon stain is hers or his.

"Draco," she tries to whisper, but it comes out like a grunted growl.

"Don't even breathe." His voice is so low that it takes her mind several seconds to make out what he says through the jumble of breathy noises that were supposed to be words.

She doesn't know what's going on. She doesn't know why she's in such pain, what happened to her or Draco. She doesn't know how much time has passed since the last thing she remembers, or what happened in that time. What she does know is that they are obviously trying to escape, they don't have their wands, and if they had Portkeys, they would already be gone. She knows that Draco's chest is trembling against her, that there are rigid lines of pain with the panic on his face, and the last thing he needs to be doing is carrying her.

She knows the rules. If she's too injured to make it out on her own, and her team members are too injured to help her, they are to leave her behind, secure backup, and inform them of her location. Draco is putting up an effort, but she's a liability, and she knows it.