Blood Below the Stars

9: Witches Get Stitches

Draco didn't know what God it was that granted them safe passage back to The Burrow, but he would pray to them for the rest of his life.

He sat awkwardly, on a course woolen blanket, no doubtfully hand knitted, that covered an ancient and sagging armchair in the corner of the living room. Everyone sat silently, except Mundungus Fletcher who whispered inaudibly to his satchel somewhere in the far corner.

Poor bugger had lost it. 

Though Mrs Weasley hadn't been overjoyed at Draco's bloody and gory appearence through the fireplace she said nothing, and kept her comments to herself. George's vouch for him seemed to be enough for her to be appeased.  Still - he felt like a fish in a bird nest. 

Hermione sat cradling the baby on the left side of the sofa, next to George who had drifted off into a restless snooze. Her watery eyes were open wide and stared into nothing, though she winced every now and then when the baby shifted against her gashes. 

The strange clock in the corner ticked slowly, echoing loudly in the silence. It reminded him of the drip in his cell. He twitched, needing to break the quiet spell. 

Draco cleared his throat awkwardly. 

"Granger, Your scratches.." he directed towards Hermione, and she turned to face him abruptly like she had woken from a day dream. "They need stitches, they are quite deep."

She tried to gulp but her throat was dry,

"There's essence of Dittany.." 

"It won't work Mione." George interrupted, rubbing his eyes. He looked at her sadly. 

"Nothing magical works on them, or on the injuries they inflict. It's the muggle way I'm afraid."

Draco nodded. Though technically speaking he hadn't thought of it as the muggle way, to Draco it was what the Death Eater's did in battle when they were caught in a dark magic crossfire. Most magical remedies didn't help injuries inflicted through the black arts. Another reason he was certain this epidemic was started by black magic. 

Hermione nodded sadly. She passed the baby to George, who took him and held him like it was second nature. 

"Come along then Malfoy." she said, standing up. "Best to get it over with."

Draco hadn't actually meant that he would do them, surely she would rather anyone else in the room. Especially after the fiasco with her jumper in the ministry toilets. 

Sensing his hesitation she sighed.

"Have you done this before?" she asked.

"Yes" he answered truthfully. 

"During the war? Perhaps in Azkaban?" 

Draco nodded.

"I thought as much." she said, but Draco noted that it was not said condescendingly and was without judgment. She was simply deducing fact.

"Then I suppose that makes you the most qualified doesn't it." She finished simply. 

No one else spoke. They couldn't argue. And even if they could, was it ever worth arguing with Hermione Granger? Draco had watched her tear most of the teachers a new one - he could imagine they were all probably a little bit scared of her. 

"Ginny, can we borrow your room please. I don't really fancy everyone gawking at me." Her face was pale, and her voice was small but level. She looked down at her jumper and winced. "And maybe some clothes."

"Of course Mione, I'll come with you," the redhead made to get up when Hermione put her arm out to stop her. 

"No Gin, you all need to stay here and make a plan. We can't wait around."