Until the end Dramione

Chapter 11 Reunions

Draco, almost hunched over with his hand on his hip, looked at Hermione. His gaze was not the one she had always known: dark, hateful. Sure, it wasn't soft, but it was less harsh. She took the time to inspect him; his hair was shaggy, his face haggard, he looked needy and his shirt was stained with blood that had turned brown. He was certainly not at his best. Intrigued, Hermione hurried towards him, took his arm gently and put it on her shoulders so she could help him walk. On the way, they said nothing. Only the sighs of Draco's exhaustion and the sound of their footsteps on the wet tar could be heard.

Hermione had put her arm behind Draco to put her hand on his hip. She was helping him walk, but she wished she could stay in that position forever. She felt him close to her, like never before.

A few minutes later, they arrived in front of Hermione's house. They walked around to the small garage door. She had to let go of him to open it. Once inside, the young woman made him sit on a table leaning on the back wall, for lack of chairs. The light that she had lit was not clear enough, but she could still distinguish his wounds. Caught off guard by the situation, and trying to hide her embarrassment, she found an excuse to leave the room:

- I have to get the medicine kit. Stay there.

The Gryffindor hurried out through a door that led into the house.

Draco, left alone, contemplated the treasures hidden in this room. On the wall were shelves on which sat tubular or rectangular bottles of aluminum or iron, from which protruded viscous liquids. Next to them, hanging on nails in the wall, were a drill and screwdriver, a pruning shears, a sickle, a saw and a hammer. On the floor, a briefcase containing screwdrivers, wrenches, bolts. Leaning against the wall to his right, a ladder and a wheelbarrow. In short, all the kit of the perfect handyman of which the blond boy ignored all the utility. But also a bric-a-brac worthy of a garage. Among these objects, a washing machine and a basket filled with clean linen. On another shelf, a strange white box with a red cross. Observing all these objects, Draco wondered what could be the use of all these weapons which seemed to him dangerous. And especially this mysterious white box, because the red cross drawn on it could be the sign that it contained something dubious. He remembered having seen something like that before. But where? His sweetheart was living in a very complex world!

Hermione soon returned. She walked past him and placed a white box on the table he was sitting on. The perfect twin to the box on the top shelf, he thought on the alert. Hermione didn't look at him and immediately opened the box. Inside: bandages, medicines, cotton, other medicines and antiseptics. Draco looked inside intrigued, but still with a neutral and impassive face. But he soon remembered that box. In the infirmary. But of course! What an idiot he had been! Relieved, he sat up and looked at Hermione, still busy poking around in the box. After finding what she was looking for, her eyes still immersed in the box, she said:

- I need to treat your wounds. But... Hermione hesitated, not only the ones on your face...

Draco, who had understood, removed his shirt, without embarrassment, in front of a completely red Hermione. Trying to look away, she grabbed the shirt and put it in the washing machine. Draco waited, curious as to how she would act. Finally, she stood in front of him again, her eyes still downcast. And he looked at her.

Having finally decided to heal the wounded man, she carefully observed the torso that was in front of her. She shivered, which the Slytherin did not fail to notice.

- What's wrong with you? You look... strange.

- Hermione stammered. I...um. I'm cold.

- I'm the one with my shirt off, so I'm the one who should be cold," Draco couldn't help but reply.