Bound by Fate

Chapter 13: Tender Care

Draco remained by Hermione's side, his hand still resting gently on her shoulder as her sobs slowly quieted. He could feel the tension in her body, the way she trembled beneath his touch. Her pain was palpable, almost suffocating in its intensity, and Draco was at a complete loss for what to do.

He had never been good at comforting people, never been the type to offer warmth or kindness. But now, as Hermione sat before him, broken and lost, he couldn't leave her like this. He couldn't let her drown in her pain.

"Hermione," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft crackle of the fire in the distance. She didn't respond, her face still buried in her hands, but Draco knew she had heard him.

Gently, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest. It was a tentative, unsure embrace, but he held her as best he could. Her body was fragile, and she leaned into him, her sobs now quiet, exhausted gasps for air. She was so light, so thin. Draco hadn't realized how much weight she had lost until now.

As he held her, his eyes fell on the bruises covering her pale skin, the dried blood streaking her face, the marks on her wrists. It made his stomach twist with a mixture of guilt and fury. Lucius had done this—his father. The man who had claimed power was everything had reduced this strong, brilliant woman to nothing but pain and suffering.

And now, Lucius was dead. Gone. But the scars he had left behind remained.

Draco's breath hitched as he noticed more blood—on her arms, her legs, dried and caked in places. She hadn't cared for herself in days, and the sight of it broke something inside him. She had been so strong, so defiant, but now she looked... defeated.

"Krick," Draco whispered, summoning the house-elf softly so as not to startle Hermione. There was a faint pop, and the small creature appeared at his side, his wide eyes immediately darting to Hermione.

"Master Draco?" Krick asked quietly, his voice filled with concern.

"Bring soap. Shampoos, bath salts—anything she might need for a bath," Draco instructed, his voice low but firm. "And clothing. Something soft, comfortable."

Dobby nodded rapidly, his ears flopping as he disappeared with another pop. Draco kept his arms around Hermione, holding her close as she continued to cry softly into his chest. She was too exhausted, too broken to resist him, and the realization made his heart ache in a way he hadn't expected.

"You're safe now," he whispered, his voice shaky. "I swear, you're safe."

Hermione didn't respond, but she didn't pull away either. She just sat there, leaning into him, her body weak and trembling. She had no energy left to argue, no fight left in her. For once, she let herself be vulnerable, let herself lean on him. It was as though she had given up, too tired to keep pretending she was strong.

Krick returned quickly, a basket full of soaps, shampoos, and various bath salts balanced in his arms. He placed them gently beside the tub and then disappeared again, this time returning with soft linens and a simple, clean nightgown.

"Thank you," Draco murmured, dismissing the elf with a wave of his hand.

He turned his attention back to Hermione, his voice soft as he spoke to her. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Hermione remained still for a moment, her body tense as though she didn't know what to do. But then, slowly, she nodded. She didn't say a word, didn't even look at him, but the small nod was all Draco needed.

Carefully, he helped her to her feet, his arms supporting her as she stumbled slightly. She was so weak, her legs barely able to hold her up. Draco guided her toward the tub, the steam rising from the water as it filled the room with warmth. He kept his touch gentle, mindful of her fragility.

With shaky hands, Hermione began to pull at the tattered remains of her clothes, but her fingers fumbled, too tired to manage. She let out a quiet, frustrated sound, and Draco hesitated for only a moment before stepping in to help her. He undressed her carefully, his movements slow and deliberate, doing his best not to make her feel exposed or vulnerable. She didn't resist—didn't protest. She was too broken to care anymore.

Once her clothes were gone, Draco guided her into the warm water, holding her steady as she sank into the tub. She winced slightly as the heat touched her skin, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she closed her eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath as the warmth began to soothe her aching muscles.

Draco knelt beside the tub, picking up a washcloth and dipping it into the water. He washed her gently, careful not to press too hard on the bruises that still marred her skin. He worked in silence, his hands moving with a tenderness that surprised even him. He had never cared for someone like this, had never been the type to offer comfort. But now, with Hermione sitting in front of him, so vulnerable and broken, he found himself wanting to help.

He wanted to take her pain away.

He worked the shampoo into her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp as he rinsed away the dirt and blood that had clung to her for days. Hermione didn't speak, didn't react, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible sigh as she leaned back into the water.

When he finished, Draco helped her out of the tub, wrapping a large, soft towel around her before leading her to the bed. She was still trembling, still quiet, but there was something calmer about her now. She let him guide her without resistance, her body too tired to do anything else.

Draco dried her off with care, wrapping her in the clean nightgown Dobby had brought. The fabric hung loosely on her thin frame, and she looked even smaller than before. He helped her lie down, pulling the covers over her, tucking her in as though she were a fragile doll.

For a long moment, Draco just stood there, staring down at her. She looked so delicate, so lost, and it twisted something deep inside him. He had never felt like this before—this desperate need to protect someone, to keep them safe from the world.

"You'll be alright," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "You'll get through this."

Hermione didn't respond, her eyes still closed, but her breathing had steadied. Draco could see the faint glimmer of tears still clinging to her eyelashes, but she was calmer now, her body relaxed against the soft mattress.

He turned to leave, his heart heavy, but as he reached the door, Hermione's voice stopped him.

"Stay."

Draco froze, his hand on the door handle. He hadn't expected her to say anything. He hadn't expected her to want him here.

But he couldn't deny her.

He turned back to her, his chest tight with something he couldn't quite name. "Alright," he said softly, walking back to the bed.

He sat down beside her, not too close but close enough that she could feel his presence. He didn't say anything, didn't try to offer words of comfort. He just stayed there, sitting in the quiet darkness as Hermione drifted into a restless, but much-needed, sleep.