The Cell

Chapter 5: Day 8, A festering wound

I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming my name

Like a fool at the top of my lungs

Sometimes when I close my eyes

I pretend I'm alright

But it's never enough

'Cause my echo, echo

Is the only voice coming back

- Echo, Jason Walker

Two days had passed since their argument – or perhaps mutual dressing down was a better way to describe the encounter. The air, thick with emotions at the time, had grown cold and still, even moreso than it had been before.

Hermione didn't bring up learning occlumency again. While she recognized it was still a useful skill to have, particularly while you were held captive in the enemy camp, it turned out that the devil she knew could be pretty terrible in his own right.

The elf came and went, once with the basin and flannel, and she had cleaned herself in silence, not bothering to bait or tease Malfoy this time.

She took note that her arm, rather than healing, had started to hurt more, burning every time she bumped it. She tried not to think about what this might mean. If it was infected, or if the blade had been cursed... she didn't want to consider dying in this room with only Draco Malfoy for company. It was too devastating to comprehend.

The elf had left some time ago after dropping off two bowls of thick, pasty porridge, and she was curled on her side against one of the walls. She felt herself sweating a bit despite the perpetual chill in the air and decided she couldn't put it off any longer.

She got up and moved across the room to the door on shaking legs, pulling in a deep breath before raising her arm to inspect it more closely in the pale, flickering light. She felt Malfoy's eyes on her, but he didn't say anything.

While the wound itself had closed in all but the deepest places, the edges of the lacerations were clearly red and puffy, the skin around them hot to the touch.

"Malfoy," she said weakly, her voice shaking. He looked up, surprise flashing briefly across his face before he schooled it away. "It looks like you might get this cell to yourself after all."

"What are you rambling about, Granger?"

She swallowed hard but remained silent, unable to tear her eyes from her own festering flesh. While it didn't seem to have progressed very far, there was little doubt in her mind that it was infected, and badly. After a moment he got to his feet, muttering under his breath, and joined her, standing near the door.

She held out her shaking arm and he grasped her wrist, twisting it slightly toward the light.

"Well fuck."

oOoOoOo

"Okay, I'm going to do it again."

She nodded weakly, unable to speak around the fabric in her mouth. It had a slightly sour taste and the fibers clung to her tongue in a decidedly unpleasant way.

Malfoy, who was kneeling next to her prone form, placed his hand just above her forearm and muttered, "Scourgify."

Her hands balled into fists as she screamed around the gag. Regardless of how powerfully it was cast, scourgify, a general cleaning charm, was decidedly not intended to sterilise a wound. It burned, like someone was raking a red-hot poker under her skin. Malfoy had his other hand on her shoulder, pinning her firmly to the ground so she couldn't thrash away from the spell.