COMPLETE. Hermione convinces Draco to spy for the Order and she becomes his handler. But what are Draco's true motivations? Hard to say when he's still figuring that out himself.
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Hermione glanced down at the Galleon in concern. Something was wrong. There was no sexual innuendo so it must be urgent. Maybe having to do with the raid?
Coming right away.
She looked down at herself. Camisole and knickers for bed. As quickly as she could, she donned a bra and a pair of shorts, nervous about what she would find. She Apparated to her room and heard Nirvana blasting from downstairs. She didn't know Draco had figured out how to operate their stereo system, but should she be surprised? He was probably more competent with Muggle technology than Arthur Weasley at this point.
Still apprehensive, she hurried downstairs, hand gliding along the cool wood of the bannister. The music increased in volume as she approached to see Draco lying down in the middle of the living room floor. He was barefoot, wearing a dark T-shirt and pajama bottoms. One leg was extended outward and one was bent, knee in the air. The room stank of alcohol and she noticed a half empty bottle next to him, spilled on the carpet.
Raiding her parents' liquor cabinet and listening to Smells Like Teen Spirit. How very... suburban. With his longish blond hair fanned out on the carpet he even resembled Kurt Cobain from a distance.
Hermione strode into the room fully prepared to yell at him and abruptly stopped. One hand lay carelessly across his chest, the other was clutching the Galleon. There was blood all over the hand on his chest. What did he do? Her irritation immediately morphed to concern, and she quickly turned off the stereo and knelt beside him.
Draco's eyes were closed. She couldn't tell if he was asleep or passed out from alcohol. But he had only contacted her a few minutes ago. Her gaze travelled down to his hand. It was a mess of blood, but he didn't look like he was in pain. For all intents and purposes, he appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Slowly, he opened his eyes and her throat caught at the despair and helplessness held within the stormy grey.
What happened to him?
Gently, she laid a hand on his cheek and he nuzzled into her touch, his eyelids fluttering closed again.
"You came," he croaked. It sounded like he had been crying.
"Of course I did, Draco" she said softly. "What did you do to yourself?"
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She waved her wand to clean the blood from his hand and sucked in a breath. He had shards of glass - or perhaps mirror - embedded in his knuckles. And there were lacerations down his fingers and the back of his hand. Did he punch a mirror? The bathroom mirror here? He was still bleeding.
Gently, she turned his hand over and he winced. He had blisters all over his palm. She looked at his other hand. He had blisters all over that one too. Ripped open, exposed red skin.
