mudblood. (dramione fanfiction)

chapter two: vetus hostis

The girl looked thoroughly deranged and was utterly grimy. Her face remained covered in a frizzy mess of light brown hair. He felt almost intrusive as his eyes scoured her body for burn marks, she was, after all, wearing nothing but her undergarments and the sweatpants. His wand was at hand, ready to treat any visible wounds. Besides small scratches, he couldn't see anything that was in desperate need of attention at that moment. She was looking up at him, with a peculiar expression on her face that Draco couldn't quite decipher due to the hair on her face. She was most likely just shocked that someone had found her in such a desolate location. Draco stood up, looking down at the girl once more who kept her gaze locked onto his. He didn't know quite what to say to her, or whether or not he should comfort the girl. Comfort wasn't exactly Draco Malfoy's forte, you see. 

Before he could turn his back on the steadily breathing girl, he noticed her eyes roll around to the end of her head, breaking her stare. His eyebrows shot up as she opened her mouth, letting a warm stream of blood trickle out the side of it. Draco leaned beside her and shook her shoulders gently.

"Shit!" He cursed as the girl went into a state of unknowing fits. He drew his wand but didn't quite know what to do as soon as it was in his hand. He was a complete mastermind when it came to duelling and hurting others with magic - but when it came to healing people, he lacked an abundance of skill in that area.

"Shit, shit, shit," Draco muttered, looking down at the girl. He knew he couldn't just let her die, surely there was something he could do. It had to be an internal injury, although due to her state he couldn't ask her where exactly it was hurting. He had to bring the girl to someone that was a healer, or at least better trained than him. Daphne would be perfect in this situation, but she was busy getting smashed at some pub unknown to Draco. Perhaps he could bring the girl to St. Mungos - but it would be far too risky getting his cover blown. Draco felt like a selfish git for thinking solely about himself in a crisis like this. Reaching a hand toward her face, he cleared the knotty brunette's hair away. Her blood was becoming matted into the fibres of her bushy hair, which was a sight that could make even the most robust Death Eater a little queasy. Killing someone with a bloodless spell was one thing, but seeing someone drown in their blood without the harm of magic was another.

There weren't many things that could shock or surprise Draco, but this moment was an exception. The girl beneath the mess of hair was a face he knew all too well. Although he was never close to Hermione, in fact, they were practically enemies during their school years, something was relieving about seeing an old face. Pushing him reminiscent thoughts aside, he focused back to her miserable state. She was writhing in her blood, and he had no idea how to help. Only one idea crossed his mind - and he was aware of just how risky it would be. To take her back to his apartment. Carefully and quickly, Draco tucked his hands under Hermione's body and cradled her in his arms which were slowly becoming more and more seethed in her blood. Draco summoned his broom and apparated before he could look back, or think twice. 

As soon as Draco got inside, he paced quickly to his bedroom to place Hermione down on his bed. He cast a blood replenishing spell before rushing to his kitchen and flinging his cupboards open frantically.

"Fuck." Draco groused, slamming his cupboard and shoving his hands in his hair. He had no idea how to help her, and she was dying quickly. It was very unlike Draco to be out of ideas. His lack of thoughts didn't last long, however, as Draco looked towards his fireplace and raised an eyebrow. Maybe, just maybe, he could use the Floo Network to travel to the dammed pub that Blaise had so conveniently given him the wrong directions to. Then again, if Blaise didn't have the worst handwriting on the fucking planet, perhaps Draco wouldn't have found Hermione. He had to get Daphne; she would be Hermione's only hope in this situation. So, and without further ado, he picked up a handful of Floo Powder, not even daring to look back at the bleeding Gryffindor in his bedroom, and threw it at his fireplace. He just prayed to Merlin that he was remembering the name of the pub he had overheard earlier, he didn't need to come accross another burning house.