Scars

seven

Hermione could do nothing but cry as he fell in her arms, unconscious. Her wrecked mind could not think of what to do as she slid to the ground, his head in her lap. She looked around frantically, wondering who to call. It was then she snatched his wand from his hand and illuminated its tip, thankful the light was enough for her to work with. With her own hand, she wiped the tears off of her face and pointed the wands at the body that lay in her lap. With every wound she healed a surge of pain erupted in her, she could not bear watching him in such agony. But she beard it, for she knew that dawn was a long time coming, and until then, it was just her and his limp body and the darkness.

•••

Draco felt himself stir to nothingness. He couldn't feel, see or hear anything.

He twitched, eyes moving frantically under his lids, unable to open them. When all attempts seem to be for naught, did not try any longer and instead chose to remember what happened, and where he might be. His mind brought back flashes of multi colored lights, curses ringing in his ear, all related to one newspaper article. At the same moment he was reminded of a girl's scream in the forest, his mind also recalled the tragedy that was the death of his father.

At the very moment his eyes burst open. His eyes, still blurry and dry, He blinked but could not see in the dim lights. He could not move, his senses unawaken by the dreariness that consumed him. Only his mind was racing, nerves fully awake. He closed his eyes once more, taking in a deep breath, calming himself. He rolled his head to the side to see where he might possibly be and opened his eyes once more. It took some seconds of vigorous blinking for his vision to clear. It was all a blur at first, of colors, of shapes and lights. It took him a while to register what was before him. His vision cleared to an image of an all too familiar figure lying opposite to him on a separate bed, eyes closed, hair covering half of her face. Hermione. He saw her hand trailing down the edge of her bed, and saw with astonishment that it was curled tightly with his.

His chest tightened with the sight before him, wondering why she had brought him where ever they were.

He remembered seeing her, remembered her tear stricken face running towards him, he remembered the words she had whispered to him before he fell to her lap, and it hurt him even more to know she had not let go of him, even at his lowest, not even for the sake of her own self. He could only imagine how ill and tired she was, and hence did not try to wake her. He looked away from her features, constricted under the curtain of locks into one of worry and distress, eyebrows knit together and forehead wrinkled.

His chest tightened even more, as he faced the arching ceiling, as he thought more about the newspaper. His vision blurred once more as he thought about it, but this time they had blurred over with tears, thinking of all the pain he would have to go through. How much hermione, his mother would have to go through because of him. He found it harder to breathe and had the sudden urge to sit up, his hands and legs twitching, itching to move.

As he tried to move his hand, he felt a sharp pang of pain run up the length of his arm. He sucked in a deep breath and an involuntary cry of pain escaped his lips.

•••

Hermione was woken from her dreamless sleep by a cry of pain. Immediately alert and senses running wild, she abruptly sat up. Her vision lead her to Draco, lying in a mess of sheets across her, her hand gripping his tightly. His eyes were screwed shut, as if from pain and the sight immediately made her stomach churn.

"You're awake," she said urgently. She crossed the distance between them and sat by his side, still gripping his hand.

He rolled his head to her, squinting. "Does it hurt?" she asked him earnestly.