The boy in the hammock

Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.
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It took him much longer than it should have to heal Hermione, his hands were shaking so badly.

The snatcher had really done a number on her head, but he managed to seal it after several tries. The deep gash along her hairline was closed, but it the area was still dangerously red. She kept slipping in and out of consciousness, and every time she slipped out, he would revive her and chatter about anything that came to mind to keep her awake. Quidditch, Hogwarts, even arithmancy - nothing was off bounds as long as her eyes were open. It was a fight for her to stay conscious, he could tell. She was completely limp in his arms.

"Okay Granger, the cut on your head should heal now. I'll just move on to..."

The gashes on her chest. They were irritated and bleeding. In need of healing cream. And on her chest.

She bloody well gave you a bath, and you can't even heal her chest? Coward.

"Uh..."

He picked up the cream and looked at it, then stole another glance her chest. Now that he was really looking, he could see that the scrapes continued to travel underneath the cover of her bra. Blood had soaked through the cotton. It didn't look good.

He gingerly scooped up some cream and started dabbing it on the most visible injuries, keeping away from her breasts as much as possible. Not that he didn't want to touch them - quite the opposite. Suddenly, he felt a desperate need to. Those breasts had been haunting his memories ever since he caught a glimpse several weeks ago, and it had taken all of his concentration not to let Hermione catch him gazing at her chest longingly. He didn't trust himself to heal her there yet. His body would give him away within seconds. Besides, they were just barely getting used to the idea of being friends. He wasn't going to push his disastrous luck.

Maybe the gashes under her bra would just heal by themselves...

Hermione's voice cut through his anxious internal dialogue.

"Draco, I swear to God, just heal me. I don't give two shits where your hands go right now, as long as the pain stops." She paused, and then said softly, "I'm too weak to do it myself. Please. Don't make this harder for me."

Oh.

If that's what she wanted, then he had better do a proper job of it. There would be no letting her down if she trusted him to do this. At least Draco had been passed out when she bathed him - here, she would be fully awake while he touched her.

The very idea was making him hard, and he felt like a bastard for it.

Without another word, he slid his slippery fingers under the fabric of her bra, following the line of the deepest scrape. His fingers grazed her nipple and his groin jumped to attention. She either didn't notice the touch, or she genuinely didn't care. He felt a niggling annoyance that she wasn't affected by his fingers, although his rational mind knew that she was suffering from a head injury and probably wouldn't notice if a hippogriff ran through the cave.

He dipped his hand back into the pot of cream, scooping out a generous amount. Bringing both hands together, he smoothed an even layer of cream over each digit before dropping his hands back down to her chest. This time, he let each hand slide under the fabric on either side, and let his full palm rub each breast slowly. It was highly erotic, and he could feel a flush of colour traveling up his cheeks. God, she is so soft. She feels amazing. His breath slowed, but he didn't stop massaging her until he was satisfied he had covered every gash.

His length start to pulse with arousal, and he ignored it determinedly. Relief could come later. Alone. Outside the cave. Right now, he needed to make sure Hermione was properly healed.